The Dance of the Butterflies
by M. Alicia Garcia
Summary: Twisted dreams, broken noses, and a whole lot of heartache. Arika x Mashiro
1. Chapter 1

_This is my first Yuri fan fiction. So be nice. _

_Although I do have a clear grasp on where I want this story to go, suggestions are always welcome._

**The Dance of the Butterflies**

For her, longing came as a dull resonating ache without beginning or end. Her sense of longing only heightened with awareness; desires surfaced in consciousness with brazen thoughts, but were concealed by her own mortified propriety. It was always there, masked by the everyday things in her life, robes, titles, the tenderness of her sex, and veiled in fear, duress, anxiety, apathy. Friendship.

In spite of all her desires, there were rules to be followed.

Limitations. Impositions. Duties to be performed.

She lived in perfect world order structured around what she symbolized. Her longings could take no shape or form in this place yet she held onto them like a secret lover. She drew from their existence and learned to be satisfied with the mere knowing that they existed when they shouldn't have. They were hers and she would flirt with them in secret, defying their seduction, permitting nothing more than the indiscretion of a dance.

That alone should have been enough.

* * *

She lay asleep in the shade of a willow tree, a book on her chest opened to the first page, and her reading glasses pushed up over her forehead. A tint of hue stained her cheeks from a day spent too long in the sun, yet her face was surprisingly serene, unfurrowed by her usual range of dynamic child-like expressions. Her hair sprawled over the grass in waves of red, no longer bound in her signature braids. And for once she was out of her uniform, favoring the simplicity of civilian attire. Miss Maria would have never approved; she believed that as an Otome to the Queen, Arika was as much a symbolic representative of the Windbloom kingdom and was obligated to her duties even on her personal time. But Arika had long since graduated from Miss Maria's stringent pupilage and felt no obligation to such severe restrictions.

And so today she decided that she would enjoy a visit to her alma mater and drop a hello to Headmistress Kruger and crabby old Miss Maria, and maybe—just maybe—she could do a demonstration or two of her skills before the adoring and impressionable students. Ever since Miss Viola let it slip that some of the girls had started an "Arinko" fanclub, Arika had not been bashful of letting the students' brazen admiration get to her head.

_"Who needs the paparazzi anymore?"_ Mashiro had once complained privately to Aoi after another of Arika's over-the-top demonstrations. _"Arika's silly antics hit the rumor mill long before they make it to the newsstand."_

Arika may have been enjoying the excitement of the media circuit and the adoring crowds, but it was Mashiro who had to deal with the disapproval of the council; a disapproval which had lead to the formation of a committee exclusively dedicated to "Arika damage control," or as Masaru Pitzer, her stuffy Secretary of State, preferred to call it, "Collateral Damage." But that was only one of many concerns that kept her tied up in one meeting or another these days. Meetings that Arika was beginning to resent.

Arika had only caught glimpses of her queen in the past two weeks. It seemed that whenever Arika was entering a room, Mashiro was leaving it; oftentimes she'd only catch sight of her trailing coattails as she vanished behind closed doors.

She longed for a break from the loneliness of the castle walls. With Mashiro neck deep in political discourse and the castle staff clamoring about in preparation for yet another diplomatic visit, Arika felt more than a little in the way. Even that stupid bloated cat seemed too busy to spare her any time.

"_You really shouldn't mind Mikoto. It's just the nature of cats,"_ Aoi had told Arika earlier. _"Everyone's just on edge right now. Secretary Pitzer is very anxious over this visiting diplomat and has us all working around the clock. He wants to be sure everything is in perfect arrangement for the Sovereign."_

Arika had huffed at the mention of the Secretary of State.

"_Why don't you get out of the castle, maybe pay a visit to Garderobe?" _Aoi had suggested.

Yet she managed to get no further than the courtyard when she was bombarded with more reading assignments by the Queen's far too uptight Secretary of State. _Three-hundred and thirty-seven pages on the rituals and social customs of the Northeastern Island of Gristholm._ _Gristholm? Where was that?_ Why she should even be concerned with that island was beyond her. Even with Miss Maria's absence, Arika could not escape homework.

And that's how she ended up trapped, yet again, within castle walls. At least she could let her guard down in the West Gardens. She enjoyed a good sprint among the jungle of flowers and grew drunk on their fragrance. In her euphoria, she crafted a crown of flowers and imagined herself a privileged maiden encircled by a flock of fervent suitors. Arika immodestly thanked her imaginary consorts for their attentions and extended her hand, offering it to be kissed. At first she imagined that it was a faceless suitor kissing her hand. Like the many that kissed Mashiro's hand. But then he began to take shape; squared jaw, broad chest, firm shoulders, and that scar that trailed down his forehead and between his brows.

Her face warmed, recalling a distant moonlit night, Sergey's arms around her, and the anticipation of the kiss that never came. A melancholic smile crossed her lips, dwelling on the bittersweetness of first love. She imagined that she was the only person in the world to suffer the pangs of unreciprocated love, but knew she wasn't. _Mashiro knows it too. _Arika's face burned, singed by the startling onset of another memory and a shared first kiss. _It was a lie_, she reasoned. And it wasn't.

She stared, almost stupidly, into space, pondering the meaning of the repressed and forgotten kiss, when her thoughts were interrupted by the machinations of Mashiro's pernicious cat. Without warning, Mikoto came flying from high above and landed his massive furred bottom on Arika's head, knocking her back on her own ass. Without a moment's hesitation, Mikoto swiped the crown, leaving Arika with a bruised ass and a claw marks down her forehead. Stunned by the sudden ambush, it took her more than a moment to realize what had transpired.

"You better watch your back, you stupid cat!" She called after him as she scrambled indignantly to her feet, blood trickling down her cheek. He glanced back at her, his jaded eyes undaunted by her threats, and disappeared beyond the foliage.

She pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket and wiped off the blood. The universe seemed determined to keep her drummed away in boredom. To her surprise, she found herself aimlessly rummaging through the pages of her assigned reading, but couldn't muster enough interest to read complete paragraphs; her eyelids grew heavy with sleep every time she tried. She pondered why she never heard of the island country before and vaguely recalled her refreshing naps during her World History class back in the academy. And during Political Science. And Chemistry. And Public Speaking. Her mental block was overwhelming, and before she knew it, she was sleeping soundly beneath Mikoto's favorite tree.

* * *

She had searched from one room to another and another before she decided that the castle was simply much too big. A castle of this magnitude was advantageous when trying to hide, but not when you are the one doing the looking. _I don't even want to think about the secret passages._

"Have you seen Arika?" the queen inquired of her kitchen staff. "She's been missing all day."

The head chef recalled seeing Arika squabbling with the Secretary of State in the main hall.

"I don't know where she went off to after that, but Lady Yumemiya appeared to be rather distressed," the head chef explained.

"Yeah," the younger cook chimed in, "and it looked like she wanted to pop the Old Pisser a good one, too."

"Ginta!" the older chef hissed, "mind your manners!"

"But that's what she calls him. Everyone heard h—"

The old chef bowed before his queen, forcefully pulling on Ginta's arm to do the same. "My apologies, Your Highness. This imbecile is my sister's son, and I'm afraid he still hasn't picked up any manners."

Mashiro smiled and motioned for the men to stand at ease. "Don't worry. I have not been offended, Tomas. Although it would seem that your nephew is not the only one who is having trouble with manners these days."

Just as Mashiro figured, searching the main hall turned out to be a dead end. No one had seen where Arika had gone from there, although a few had admitted to overhearing the altercation between her Otome and the Secretary of State. Arika had never been shy to let it be known to Secretary Pitzer, or all of Windbloom for that matter, just how she felt about him. For the past two years the two had been at each other's throats, and Mashiro was beginning to lose patience.

_"He has to go!"_ Arika had demanded for the umpteenth time just two weeks ago.

_"I'm_ _not going to restructure my staff just because you don't know how to play nice,"_ Mashiro had countered trying to pacify yet another of Arika's tantrums.

_"He's the one with the problem; he doesn't have your best interest at heart."_

_"You're right; his priorities are better directed with the well being of this country."_

Arika seemed to be at a loss and Mashiro assumed that it marked the end of their conversation. With a heavy sigh, she turned and walked away, leaving a motionless Arika behind. It was just as she reached for the door handle that Arika spoke.

_"It's because he knows. And he holds it against me."_ Mashiro paused and was struck by the solemnity and caution in Arika's voice. Before she could ask Arika what it was that Secretary Masaru Pitzer was supposed to know, the door opened and a nervous Page announced that Mashiro's presence was requested for the next meeting with the Council.

They had talked little since then. Endless meetings had kept her busy, addressing everything from the nation's dept, to welfare reform, but of most precedence, the impending visit from the Sovereign ofGristholm. Secretary Pitzer and the Council had advised that a political alliance between Windbloom and Gristholm would benefit both nations. With Windbloom's technology and Gristholm's resources, an alliance could likely bolster an economic boon and ratify new trade agreements with neighboring countries. Of course this also meant a growth in production, jobs, and tourism. Mashiro was more than convinced, but Secretary Pitzer was pushing for a more concrete political union now that she was turning twenty. And Mashiro wasn't sure she was ready for that kind of commitment.

She needed to see Arika. With all her meetings concluded for the day and resolutions and reforms taking a life of their own, Mashiro was freed from her political obligations. Only now Arika was nowhere to be found.

Mikoto made his way to the West Walkway and followed the stone path toward the Castle. He could not keep up his quick pace and slowed, heavy breathed and suddenly sleepy. At his old age, he was as mischievous as ever but lacked the energy of youth. He pressed himself against the coolness of a nearby tree and dropped the stolen crown beside him. The flowers were surprisingly intact, having suffered little under Mikoto's rough handling.

He was dead asleep when Mashiro came upon him. He slept on his side, his wide belly exposed and a paw in mid air, pawing sporadically at things only present in his dreams. His master rubbed his belly and he pried open an eye before he went back to sleep.

Mashiro picked up the crown of flowers and after a moments inspection, knew exactly where to find Arika. She made her way down the West Walkway and into the West Gardens up the small hill of Mikoto's favorite tree. On the other side of the slope Arika laid sprawled on the grass, her lips slightly parted and her flowing hair and lashes fluttering against the wind. Dressed in cargo pants, a white tank top, and bright red suspenders, Arika appeared so out of place in the castle grounds. _She could be the gardener_, Mashiro mused as she sat beside her. She quietly adjusted the crown of flowers on Arika's head and held it in place with hairpins taken from her own hair. Arika was too far-gone in sleep to notice and this made Mashiro smile.

"You're a heavier sleeper than Mikoto," Mashiro said tenderly as she played with Arika's soft strands. She pressed her cool hand against Arika's warm cheek and trailed her thumb along her lower lip. And still Arika slept on.

"_It's because he knows. And he holds it against me."_

Mashiro paused remembering those last words, and then inched closer, momentarily forgetting propriety. "What did you mean by that, Arika?" But Arika's soft full lips replied with noting more than the warm breath of sleep.

_**Author's Note:**__ I will be exploring the potential of Arika and Mashiro's relationship in a handful of chapters. Your thoughts and reviews are always appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning:** Rating increase. This chapter gets a little sexy.

**The Dance of the Butterflies**

Chapter Two

She couldn't remember her dreams, yet as she stirred awake she vaguely recalled the sweetness of peaches and longed for a taste. And then she recalled tender lips, moist and soft, and calling her name. Arika pressed her fingers to her lips baffled by the stirring of sensations she could not fully encapsulate except to say that her lips ached for something that they shouldn't. She was almost certain it wasn't a dream. And then it wasn't. Her thoughts cleared from the fog of sleep and she mentally berated herself for remembering what should have been forgotten.

_Because she's forgotten, even though he hasn't._

She was haunted by the stirrings inside her. Mocked by the necessity of repression, and angered that someone like Masaru Pitzer would know her dirty little secret. It was more than just the knowing. She hated his face, his eyes. In them he harbored a haughtiness; self appointed in condemnation.

_But is it really so dirty, _she dared to wonder. _It felt…_

Again, those lips came to mind. Arika remembered how she had encircled her with her arms and how the warmth of such a petite girl seemed to burn through the fabric of her shirt as Arika's hands had traveled up the curve of her back. Over time, memories were bound to fade, and yet in the last two years her memories of that night were no less dulled.

Arika sat up and inhaled deeply to calm the mounting palpitations of her heart. She slowly rose to her feet, patting down her clothes from leaves and grass, and ran her fingers through her hair. It surprised her when her fingers brushed, not hair, but trailed along a crown of flowers. Even more surprising were the hairpins that held it in place. She recognized them by touch; matching silver pins in the shape of diamond studded sunflowers. Arika had given them to her on her seventeenth birthday.

"Mashiro," she whispered under the hiss of the wind and the trees. Her voice was swept away with the leaves.

* * *

Mashiro was advancing briskly through the West Walkway back toward the castle. Her tight fist was clamped to her chest almost as if she feared that her pounding heart would burst right through. Her breaths were heavy and nervous with fear.

_I shouldn't have done that._ And yet she had.

In a moment of weakness she had given in to the temptation. Arika had looked so delicate, so sensual, and yet so primal as she slept soundly on the plush grass. She had looked as inviting as a dream, and perhaps Mashiro could reason that it was precisely because Arika's allure had been so dream-like that her own mind had lost touch with reality.

It hadn't been enough to touch her face, or rub her lips, although it should have been. Mashiro had long decided that her mere proximity would be enough. And yet today, being as near to Arika as she was, her breath so warm and close that it tickled Mashiro's chin, was just so utterly unsatisfying. More so, for its suggestive propinquity.

That's when she did it. It hadn't been so hard; it had only been a matter of inches. And just like that, she had closed the gap between their lips. Her lips were as soft as she remembered. Not what anyone would expect from an Otome who had clocked as many field hours as Arika had. As tough and boyish as she was, Arika was still so decidedly feminine, from the supple curve of her chest to the delicate features of her face. Mashiro could not have avoided kissing her.

Soft kisses. Butterfly kisses. Mashiro rested a hand on the curve of Arika's hip as she stole the warmth of her lips. It had taken her more than a moment to realize that Arika had been kissing her back. Mashiro's eyes opened in surprise as Arika's lips nibbled at hers. She pulled away struck with guilt and mortification, both for stealing her lips and getting caught. But Arika remained asleep, ignorant of Mashiro's transgressions.

Then her eyelids fluttered and a small sleepy groan rumbled in her throat.

That's when Mashiro ran. She had stumbled her way out of the garden in her scramble to get as far away as she possibly could. Her mind jumbled with disorienting thoughts and her hair danced wildly in the warm wind. It was only until she reached the end of the West Walkway that she felt safe enough to stop.

_That was so stupid_, she thought as she braced herself against a lamppost, still wondering if Arika had noticed what she had done.

"Miss Yumemiya certainly has very lovely lips," a familiar disembodied voice whispered in Mashiro's ear. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she jumped.

Mashiro took a moment to mentally compose herself before she turned and smiled with as much dignity as she could muster and greeted Meister Viola.

"Ah, Meister Viola, this-this is a surprise. I understood that you would not be stopping by until next week. The council has already disbanded for the day." Mashiro met Shizuru Viola's eyes in wavering defeat. She had no sooner locked eyes with her when she looked away, intimidated by the coyness in Shizuru's smile and the shrewd look in her eyes.

Mashiro wondered just how much Shizuru knew of what had transpired just moments ago in that garden. _Did she see?_ _Did she see what I -_

"Actually, I stopped by to see Arika regarding Garderobe business. I hope Your Majesty doesn't mind. Quite informal, really, but I was in the area."

"Oh." Mashiro bit her lower lip.

"Is this a bad time, then?" Shizuru prodded. "Should I come back some other time, instead?"

"Yes. I mean, no. No, it's fine, really. Arika's free. She has lots and lots of time on her hands. You're actually doing her a favor by stopping by."

"I am glad, then." Shizuru replied.

"She's usually so difficult," Mashiro went on in nervous chatter. "She runs about the castle like a small child, disrupting the staff and picking arguments, while I'm kept busy trying to run the country. Only I can't keep focus because she's busy getting herself into ridiculously inventive antics."

Shizuru smiled. "Arika certainly is a refreshing character. She complements you very well."

Mashiro turned away, her face burning red. "If you don't mind waiting inside, I could have Aoi fetch Arika for you. It shouldn't be very long."

"There's no need for Your Majesty to bother herself on my account. I can track her down myself," Shizuru assured her.

Mashiro nodded, but still couldn't bring herself to turn and face her. "Then you can find her in the—"

"The West Gardens," Shizuru finished for her. "Yes. I know the way." She excused herself and backtracked down the West Walkway. Mashiro watched her go, stunned by her easy proclamation.

"Meister Viola," Mashiro called after her, stopping her in her tracks.

Shizuru looked back with her unwavering smile.

"Meister Viola, did-did you-?" But Mashiro couldn't bring herself to inquire further, too afraid of revealing too much and the answer she would receive.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Never mind. Maybe some other time."

Shizuru nodded and didn't pry any further. Mashiro felt the tension in her body subside as the Otome turned away without another word.

_She probably didn't see. It's just my imagination_, she assured herself.

Shizuru had taken no more than a few steps when she paused once more.

"Mashiro," she called out, dropping the formalities. "If someone goes out of their way to provide you with reasons to give chase, it usually means she wants to get caught."

Mashiro paled and all her muscles tightened. She remained motionless even long after Shizuru had disappeared down the walkway.

* * *

Whenever Arika was in the presence of Headmistress Kruger or Meister Viola she had trouble making eye contact. Although she idolized Shizuru and had great respect for Garderobe's headmistress, she was shocked at the discovery of the true nature of their relationship. Certainly there had been the rumors and speculations; such rumblings were commonplace at an all-girls-school, but the pair hadn't been the only ones placed under scrutiny. Chie Hallard had often been at the center of speculation, often paired with some random girl. All Chie had to do was flutter a smile at a classmate and by the end of the school day the whole school was clamoring with news of a reciprocated love declaration, and engagement, or a love hotel rendezvous.

Even Arika's name was bounced around a few times in connection with Nina. Apparently their heated banter and awkward tension as roommates only masked a deep-seated passion. Almost no one knew that true source of their strain lay in the fact that they had both been in love with the same man.

Rumors were a dime a dozen, so when Arika discovered that Natsuki Kruger and Shizuru Viola were in 'that' kind of relationship, she was completely dumbfounded.

"Is something wrong, Arika?" Shizuru asked as Aoi filled her cup with tea.

"Ah, no. No." Arika replied nervously.

"And yet you appear rather distracted. Although, it may have something to do with your attire," Shizuru surmised.

Aoi was just as distracted by Arika's outfit; the cargo pants and the cherry red suspends. Not to mention the flower tiara. Arika looked…strange.

Arika glanced down at her outfit and realized just how inappropriately she was dressed.

"I should go change."

"Oh, there's no need for that," Shizuru said as she rose to her feet. "Besides, this is just an informal meeting."

She stood before Arika and with graceful poise, plucked a petal from the crown on her head. "Quite the lovely crown you have."

Arika was flush with embarrassment. She ran her fingers over the crown, seeking out the pins, but was having trouble.

"Here," Shizuru said, reaching for a hair pin. "Let me."

She pressed the pins in Arika's palms, deliberately lingering her fingers on the girl's hand a moment longer than necessary, then cautiously removed the crown, careful to untangle the interlocking strands of hair. Aoi looked on, red-faced. It seemed to her from the coy gleam in her eyes that Shizuru was playfully flirting.

Arika was just as unnerved, although more from the memories Shizuru was unintentionally eliciting. It had been just three months before that Arika had walked in on Shizuru and the headmistress in a moment of impassioned intimacy. Arika had been so overcome with shock at the discovery that she was unable to move. Her body felt wooden and her mouth dry. She was desperate to get away. Yet, once she regained all her senses, she was too transfixed by sensuality of their movements to leave.

They made noises. Soft slight groans and sighs of satisfaction and urgency. Shizuru had the headmistress thrust up against the wall half-clothed and stroking her in places that Arika never realized could be touched in such ways. It was embarrassing; their touching and kissing. Open-mouthed kisses, long and deep; messy, frantic.

Arika could see them whispering to each other between breaths, but only heard the wispy mutterings of air, and saw the trail of gleaming moisture Shizuru's lips left on Natsuki's soft skin as she traced her way down her neck and along the jut of her collar bone. As much as Shizuru enjoyed giving, Natsuki took pleasure receiving. She reveled from the attentions her breasts received. Shizuru cupped and massaged, kissed and suckled. And Arika grew ashamed of her intrusive voyeurism.

Natsuki pulled Shizuru to the bed where they undressed each other, the removal of each piece of clothing conjoined with sensuality and teeming with sex. Arika was not so naïve as to not understand the basic concept of sex; it just startled her to read it in the simplest of touch and movements. And she realized that sex was more than sex was in textbooks.

Her own breathing grew dense and she forced herself to pull her eyes away. Her shame was etched all over her face, from the dilated pupils to the flushed cheeks.

What bothered her most was not their teeming passions, but looks in their eyes that went beyond these passions. The connections and desires within. They were the source of her envy.

"You shouldn't be so ashamed," Shizuru advised.

Arika looked up at her, confused at first, and then pushed those memories aside. She forced eye contact, but she looked more like a trapped nervous creature, and she realized that she was.

"The crown is actually quite lovely."

Arika nodded at a loss for words. Shizuru moved toward the window and fixed her eyes on the Gazebo below where Mashiro leaned contemplatively against the rail.

"Arika," Shizuru began. "I came here today to talk to you in an unofficial capacity, mainly because Garderobe Academy has no real jurisdiction or say in political affairs." Shizuru paused, not quite certain how to go on, then proceeded without hesitation. "The Council Elect has approved the engagement between Mashiro and the Gristholm Sovereign."

Aoi, invisible as the wallpaper in the room, glanced nervously at Arika, preparing herself for an explosive reaction. Arika was always anything but subtle. Only now she wasn't. She didn't move or flinch. In fact, Aoi wondered if Arika had heard at all. But Shizuru knew she had and did not bother with unnecessary repetitions.

As the shock set in Arika opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. Her hands dropped to her sides and the silver hairpins fell, resonating as they clinked on the marble floors.

**Author's Note:** Sorry about any spelling or grammatical errors, but I was anxious to post. Feel free to point out any necessary corrections.


	3. Chapter 3a

This chapter is not complete (it makes up less than half of my original outline for it), but since I haven't posted in a while I figured I may as well post what I do have. I've been busy with exams, but I should have time to post the rest of it in about a week (two, at most).

**The Dance of the Butterflies**

Part One of Chapter Three

_Two Years Ago_

As daylight overcame night, the moon lost its brilliant luster. Orange and yellow colored the eastern skies anticipating the sun's waking. But Aoi had no time to admire the rise of a new day. The staff was already clamoring throughout the castle, making haste with preparations for tonight's festivities. The older staff required little direction once she gave them their assignments, but the newer staff fumbled nervously and required her constant attention. Aoi had been nervous herself. It was the first time she had been given an authoritative role.

She knotted her fingers with a plain rubber band as she reviewed the notes on her clipboard. _Everything seems to be going according to plan_, she noted. _So far._

The Electronics Engineer gave the okay on the new lights system and cleared out his team and equipment. Once the hall was given another polishing, Aoi had the temp laborers unload the tables from the moving truck and assemble in the grand hall. After instructing the workers on the layout and assigned another team to set up the specialty tablecloths, dinnerware, and centerpieces, Aoi began setting up the nameplates herself. Before she knew it the sun was beaming through the high ceiling windows like spotlights, and she realized it was nearing eight o'clock.

"Captain! Captain Cardinal!" Aoi called out across the room when she spotted Sakomizu Cardinal make his entrance through the main doors accompanied by two young guards. The captain of the Royal Guards smiled and excused himself from his men as he made his way across the ballroom floor.

"Ah, I see that everything appears to be coming along, Miss Senoh."

"Yes. We're actually running ahead of schedule. "

"Her Majesty will surely be pleased. Mashiro knew what she was doing when she appointed you as a coordinator."

"Thank you," she replied, glowing with a trace of pride. "But there is still one detail I haven't addressed yet. And Queen Mashiro was very specific in instructing that Arika not be involved. Do you think you could spare me a little of your time?"

Cardinal raised a curious brow.

"I take it that this will involve some form of deceit? Perhaps a wild goose chase to detract our naïve young heroine?"

"You make it seem so torrid and dramatic" Aoi commented, laughter ringing in her voice.

"This is the Royal Court of Windbloom," Cardinal replied in bombastic mock authoritative conceit. "Tragic affairs. Political conspiracies. Power struggles. It is but fate that the lives of the nobility be so dramatic and torrid. A fact so well documented in our history books."

Aoi nodded and narrowed her eyes in reflection.

"You agree with me then?"

"Actually, I was thinking that you'd make an excellent school teacher."

* * *

She closed the door behind her and crept across the darkened room, illuminated only by the slightest sliver of light that had managed its way through the drawn curtains. As she made her way to the bed, she lithely removed her shoes and crawled her way across the mattress, gingerly making her way to her sleeping queen. Mashiro lay to her side, her warm breath drawing in and out like soft whispers and her lips slightly parted as she chewed on strands of her hair drawn in through the corners of her mouth. Arika tickled the bangs away from the sleeper's eyes and ran a mischievous finger along the bridge of her nose. Mashiro flared her nostrils and rubbed the back of her hand along her nose as she shifted in bed.

Arika stifled a laugh and commenced her play by brushing wisps of Mashiro's hair along her forehead. The sleeper groaned and furrowed her brows in agitation but did not wake. Arika overflowed with giddiness. Unable to contain herself, she ran a finger along the curve of her ear, stroking just soft enough to only tease the minute hairs, but if Mashiro felt it, it certainly didn't register on her sleeping face.

She leaned closer; her lips nearly touch her tender lobe, and blew along the soft flesh. Mashiro's face reddened and her breath momentarily constricted in her throat. Arika grinned with satisfaction. _Just a little more…_

With a final resolve she sought out her lowest and breathiest voice and in sing-song whispered "Happy Birthday," directly into Mashiro's ear. Perhaps it was the hot moist breath, or maybe the deep rich timber of her contralto voice, but as soon as Arika's voice made it's resonance in her ear, Mashiro bolted up. While she had correctly calculated Mashiro's reaction, Arika had failed to accordingly situate herself, and before she could indulge in her success, her forehead was pummeled by the impact of a tuft of hair as Mashiro sprang forward.

Mashiro was more confused than shocked as her eyes remained unfocused from sleep and she struggled for the coherence of waking. The top of her head ached and her ears rang. It was only after the pain subsided that she realized that she was not alone in her bed. She growled as she became aware of the low whimpers emitting from the human ball beside her.

"Arika," she scowled as she glowered at the moping shadow. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"I was—I was just trying to…" but she could not explain further. The truth could only serve to bury her deeper in trouble.

Mashiro sighed and pried Arika's arms away from her face. Even in darkness she could make out the tears that glistened down her cheeks.

"You silly girl," she said as she shook her head. Arika lay on her back as her whimpers subsided. A small hiccup escaped her throat and she winced as she was jarred with a slight stab of pain.

"Ah, are you hurt?" As if on cue, she leaned forward for a better inspection of Arika's face, but her depth of vision was impaired in the darkness and her forehead clinked against Arika's, soliciting another cry from the girl lying beneath her. Arika tentatively pressed her hand above the curve of her brow and felt swelling along broken skin. Warm blood had trickled down along the ridge of her brow.

"Let me see," she said as she took Arika's fingers in her hand. Arika stiffened and paled and was grateful for the auspicious darkness. She fought her instinct to recoil from Mashiro's touch, whose hands were like cool velvet. Her sudden anxiety had more to do with the electrifying current of adrenaline that was riding down her nerves. It wasn't so much the contact of flesh between them that put her mind on edge; they touched countless times in any given day without motive or pretense. It was that at this very moment she lay on her back as Mashiro kneeled over her. On the royal bed.

She tried to dismiss the suggestive thoughts that circled the periphery of her mind. With just one glance at the expression of Mashiro's unadulterated face, she knew that the queen was not plagued by the same sort of thoughts. Although she realized that she was reading in too deeply, there was a part of her that wanted Mashiro to look upon her with the same eyes she had for her. As to why, she wasn't sure. She could not give form to the nature of her desire, except to concede that she'd been nurturing it for the last few months.

"I'm okay," she answered, slipping her hand from Mashiro's grasp.

"Arika, let me see," her queen demanded firmly. She leaned in closer for a better look but Arika almost immediately backed away.

Frustrated, Mashiro slid off the bed and made her way across the room and pulled open the curtains. She was startled by the bright light of day and her vision was momentarily blinded in whiteness. She rubbed her eyes and adjusted to the flood of light.

"You're bleeding!" she exclaimed as she noticed the trickle of red lining Arika's brow.

"Yeah, but I'm fine."

"The color is draining from your face," she persisted as she made her way back to the bed and kneeled along the edge of the mattress.

"Didn't I say 'I'm fine' already?" Arika crawled across the bed but Mashiro stopped her before she could climb off. Using the strength of her petite frame, Mashiro pulled her down and rested her head across her lap. Arika's diminishing color was swiftly restored, and her cheeks gave a dazzling glow. Just as she was about to protest further, Mashiro dabbed the hem of her pajama top with moisture from her tongue and swiped it around the cut, careful not to press too hard on the swollen flesh. Arika winced as Mashiro delicately dabbed the blood on the broken skin.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled as Mashiro administered to her wound.

"For what?"

"Your pajamas. They're ruined." She couldn't help but avert her eyes.

"Yes, I suppose. Just don't expect me to wish you a 'Happy Birthday,' okay?" Mashiro replied mockingly in her best haughty spoiled-princess tone. "You're so troublesome."

Arika smiled and stuck out her tongue, enjoying the levity of the mood. Before Mashiro could make some sort of retort, a knock on the door interrupted their conversation and Sakomizu Cardinal announced himself.

Mashiro permitted his interruption, but made no efforts at her own composure as he entered the room. He was too much like family for the queen to bother with the pretense of formalities. Yet this did not detour his own surprise upon bearing witness to the compromising position of Queen Mashiro and Lady Yumemiya.

Captain Cardinal quickly cleared his throat, effectively drawing away from his own surprise.

"Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty, but I require Lady Yumemiya's audience and services."

Arika lifted her head at the mention of her name.

"Miss Senoh, has already instructed me with the details."

Mashiro rose from the bed, suppressing a smile.

"Yes, please. We have so much that needs to be arranged for tonight."

Arika shifted her gaze between Captain Cardinal and Mashiro and couldn't help but wonder if she had misread the gleam of mischief that seemed to be transmitting between their eyes.

* * *

Arika was not commissioned on a wild goose chase as Captain Cardinal has initially speculated. Mashiro would not have stood for it, least of all on their birthday. Instead, Arika had been saddled with the tedious charge of Duke Tate McAllister's security detail. The young Duke had become a common fixture in Windbloom's royal court as of late and had long ago procured his own personal security detail. In fact, up until now Windbloom's royal administration had not bothered concerning itself with Duke McAllister's guard.

"I still don't get why we're doing this. He has his own guards, right?"

The captain laughed. "Arika, you must remember that tonight's ball will also be host to several important guests and figure heads from foreign nations, so security has to be tighter than usual."

Captain Cardinal knew it wasn't altogether a lie. The Queen's Birthday, although celebrated as a national holiday, was also used as a plateau to tighten social politics. With many important men and women gathered in such close proximity, it was always important to take extra security precautions.

"I guess…" But Arika was not entirely convinced. She had not been entirely blind to the Duke's intentions. He'd been dropping by frequently to Windbloom's royal court under the pretense of unofficial business. It had all started not long after Mai Tokiha, Zipang's runaway-princess, introduced the young Duke to the Queen.

"_Reparations," _Mai had explained elusively to Arika, away from the prying eyes and ears of the court once the young Duke had retired from his first social visit to Windbloom.

_"Reparations?"_

_"I'm making amends. The McAllister's were the ones who had sponsored my enrollment into Garderobe. Being that I didn't fulfill my promise to become Duke Tate's Otome, I figured why not get him on Mashiro's good side, you know?" _Mai grinned like a Cheshire cat._ "And best of all, everyone wins."_

Arika had not been impressed.

_"Well, I don't like this," _Arika had voiced firmly. After a moment's consideration she glared fiercely at the truant princess._ "Wait! Isn't he the guy from all those rumors? The one you were supposed to be all gaga over?"_

Mai had only shrugged and replied simply, _"I cannot be held responsible for silly romantic tales woven by people with way too much time and imagination on their hands."_

But if Mai couldn't be held accountable for spun tales of the legendary "Tragic Meister," Arika certainly held her responsible for the rumors that were circulating in the court and already making their way into the masses. Duke Tate McAllister's visit had become so frequent that there were already murmurs of a possible engagement between the him and Queen Mashiro. Arika was well aware that many of the servants were spreading rumors of romantic liaisons between the nobles.

When she had voiced her anger and concern to Nina Wang, the girl had responded with nonchalance. _Am I the only one who objects, _she'd wondered as she recalled when Duke McAllister first kissed Mashiro's hand and flashed her his warmest of smiles, Arika was struck with an increasingly ravenous feeling of resentment and anxiety.

_"It's not so scandalous for Mashiro to have a suitor. And he's got good credentials, don't you think? I mean, he's a man of titles and powerful connections. And he's beautiful."_

Arika had been struck with a wave of disgust. _"I guess you really do have a type," _she'd snarkily replied, undoubtedly commenting on the Duke's resemblance to Sergay Wang.

_"Well, what I don't get is why you have such strong objections," _Nina remarked, ignoring Arika's snide comment. _"Just what is it Arika? Why do you care so much? Just what is it about Tate McAllister that bothers you so much?"_

But even then, Arika could not give an answer.

**Author's Note:**

I apologize if I appear to be detracting from, or stunting, the progression of the linear plot, but it has been my intention all along to do a retrospective chapter on the development of Arika and Mashiro's relationship. Your thoughts on this matter are welcome. I always welcome constructive criticism. Do expect a multitude of appearances from several Mai-Otome cast members.

Also I was wondering, is my pacing too slow? It is too lethargic?


	4. Chapter 3b

**The Dance of the Butterflies**

_Part Two of Chapter Three_

"Is everything in order?" Queen Mashiro inquired, descending down the staircase as she observed a set of laborers from the art institute ease a ten foot sheeted canvass through the main doors.

Aoi was poised at the foot of the stairs overseeing the delivery and sifting through the bill of landing docket and proof of delivery forms.

"Yes," she replied as she provided her authorizing signature and handed the signed forms back to the curator of the Royal Arts Academy. "I've already inspected the piece and it's in pristine condition. Do you wish to take a look?"

Mashiro paused halfway down the staircase and nodded, prompting Aoi to cue the curator into action. The distinguished academic bowed reverentially before the queen and proceeded to instruct the laborers with the unveiling. Aoi waited for the queen's reaction as the sheet was carefully pulled back. But Mashiro revealed no indication of disapproval or satisfaction. Her eyes remained fixed upon the piece, caught up within the details, visually tracing along the brushstrokes. A minute passed and still she hadn't breathed a word.

Aoi grew nervous. A minute was really an insignificant portion of time, but burdened with heavy silence, a minute was infinite, and she couldn't help but wonder if maybe Her Majesty was displeased with the piece after all.

"_It glitters in gold," _she whispered inaudibly.

She then sensed the mounting unease in the room and tore her eyes away, pursing her lips into a tight smile. She'd been caught off guard somehow and didn't feel particularly keen to expose this fact. There was really no logic to it, yet she felt that too much of a reaction would render her vulnerable. But more than that, the surface of the canvass had startling similarities to the lurid dreamscape she frequented at night.

"It's impressive," Mashiro attested.

Aoi and the curator were awash with relief.

"She's going to feel very honored," Aoi stated as the sheet was pulled once again over the canvass. "I just know it."

* * *

"I feel very stupid." Arika declared.

"What kind of monarchy forces their guards to wear buckets on their heads?" She tapped the metal helmet, and as she did so, it slipped over her eyes.

Duke McAllister chuckled. "You wound me Meister Yumemiya."

Arika pushed the helmet back into place and glared at the Duke walking alongside her, but without her peripheral vision she stumbled. She quickly regained her balance but the helmet's visor had effectively snapped shut over her face.

Duke McAllister, having not taken notice of Arika's predicament, went on stating, "The Gristholm Imperial Guard uniform is a symbol of dynastic history and values. As such one shouldn't mock tradition." He glanced over at Arika and was surprised and amused to find her struggling to pry open her helmet visor. The Imperial Guards that followed close behind looked on with perturbed disbelief.

"Do you require assistance, Meister Yumemiya?" The Duke inquired without skipping a beat.

"I—I'm fine." Arika tried pulling the helmet off but it was impossible with the visor clamped down.

"Are you sure?" Duke McAllister could not deny that he was actually enjoying this. Since their first meeting, Arika had gone out of her way to express her disapproval of his presence at Windbloom's royal court. She seemed indifferent to his title; Duke Tate McAllister was currently first in line to the Gristholm crown, second only to his elder half-brother, Prince Takeda who held the title of Crown Prince.

He was beginning to suspect that Arika's disapproval was less a manifestation of his worth and more to do with the fact that she felt her friendship with the queen was being threatened. Not that her fears were completely unfounded. It was no secret that the dynamics of friendships underwent change when marriage came into the picture, and for that he did feel intrusive; which is why when Mashiro made the ridiculous request to welcome Arika into his Imperial Guard for the day, he forewent objection. Not that he minded so much despite the young Meister's misgivings.

_She's fun_, he mused. _Even when she's angry, she's more like a pet pleading for attention. So much like the Huit heir._

Arika managed to pry open the visor and quickly pulled off the helmet, regarding it as though it were a diseased object.

"This thing is ridiculous and cruel," she grunted.

The Duke laughed, "Meister Yumemiya, are you insinuating that the royal family of Gristholm takes pleasure and amusement in the discomfort of others?"

Arika didn't wait for very long before she answered with a resounding "Yes."

"That a very discriminating accusation," the Duke observed in jest. "Is that your official position as a Windbloom officer?"

Realizing her mistake, she opened her mouth as if to say something, but couldn't muster the blow to her pride. Although the Duke was becoming more than a mere acquaintance, Arika was still bound to her code of conduct as a representing member of the royal court. Off-handed remarks on international affairs risked compromising Windbloom's relationship with other countries. She realized that the Duke was merely trying to teach her a lesson, but resented who it was that had taken the role of teacher.

She didn't feel like indulging the Duke, there was a more pressing question on her mind.

"Are the rumors true?" She inquired, her crystalline blue eyes searching his face for an answer.

The Duke was surprised and waved the guards away. His men backed away just far enough to be out of earshot.

"I'm surprised you're asking me and not Mashiro." Arika hated the informality in his address. Even after all this time, she inwardly cringed when he addressed the queen so informally.

"You didn't answer my question."

"You weren't specific."

_There's genuine anger there_, he mused.

"Perhaps you were referring to rumors of our love child," he interceded before she could get in another word. "Although, we haven't known each other long enough for that to hold any substance. Or maybe," he continued in mock contemplation, "you mean about how your exquisite queen has become a lovely addition to my harem? Am I getting warm?"

It was all ridiculous conjecture, but Arika's rage fascinated him, not because he took sadistic pleasure from it, but because there was something so unadulterated and naïve about it.

_It's funny, really_, he thought. _Her body has the maturity that her mind lacks._

Arika did not know how to interpret his evasive reply and grew angrier, sensing that she was being talked to like a child.

"Or maybe," he surmised, "you're referring to rumor the about an Otome who is in love with her queen."

It was meant as a joke, and there was, by no means, any malice behind that last conjecture; yet the expression on her face was so full of astonishment and alarm.

_Ah, I see._

It dawned on the Duke that perhaps it wasn't so funny. Arika was clearly stunned, and he realized that this was probably news to her too.

"Arika," he said kindly, all humor perished from his voice. "Most of those rumors are lies. I think you already know that. But I am fond of your queen, and that's not a lie."

Arika dropped her gaze, her mind struggling to make sense of the Duke's implications. He was no more than ten years her senior, yet as he raised her chin to meet his gaze, he had a very paternal way about him.

_That's not quite right_, she reconsidered. _It's because he's dealing with me the way you do with a child._

"So then…you mean to contract a marriage?"

"No," the Duke replied. "Not exactly. But I do intend to get her permission to engage her in formal courtship."

Arika tilted her head in confusion.

"It customary in my country," he explained. "But I suppose it ultimately means the same thing. An intent to court is merely a formality to express my intent to marry. If she accepts me as a suitor, then I'm in high contention for for a betrothal."

Arika nodded lamely. She had obtained her answer, what more was there left to say?

* * *

The guests began to arrive at seven that evening. Nina Wang, accompanied by Sergey Wang was one of the first guests to arrive. She was a victim of punctuality and didn't have many familiar faces to engage in conversation. For much of the first hour, Nina and Sergey secluded themselves near the bar, commenting on all the early diplomatic arrivals. The affair itself was carded as a Black and White Ball; yet even Nina couldn't help but choke a laugh when the Grand Duchess of Laurencia made her appearance in a strikingly purple silk gown. Just moments after her arrival, the Duchess was already making her way out the door, aglow in embarrassment.

Mai had managed to make her entrance without a formal announcement, sneaking in behind the Marquess and the Marchioness of Gressum. Mikoto, the hedonistic god, on the other hand, swaggered in ridiculously, barefoot and adorned in a simple black yukata. Nina couldn't help but feel embarrassed for the shameless diety.

"That's just not right," she uttered under her breath.

Sergey smiled. "She's just eccentric."

"Oh please," Mai scoffed, abruptly appearing behind them. "Eccentric is what you call someone of wealth or power because you don't have the nerve to expose them for the crazies they truly are."

Arika had also been making her way toward the ballroom grand entrance behind Duke Tate McAllister, outfitted in the traditional Gristholm Imperial Guard attire, when Aoi pulled her out from the lineup of guards and into an adjourning corridor.

"Aoi, what's going on?" Arika inquired. In the distant background the announcer was pronouncing the Duke McAllister of the Carlisle Province, cousin of the Crown Prince of Gristholm, in attendance. Arika looked back anxiously.

"Don't worry about your security detail. The captain is taking care of it." Aoi pulled Arika into another corridor and away from the ballroom, until the resonance of the ball was no louder than a hum.

"But—then why was I told—" Arika was fumbling to make sense of her current situation, but Aoi didn't give her time to question any further as she dragged her into a brightly lit room where two servant girls stood at attention. The taller of the two held a black gown, draped over her arm; the other girl quickly made her way toward them, helping Aoi unbutton Arika's uniform before the door had clinked shut behind them.

"What are you doing?" She tried to pull back burning with modesty and wide-eyed in confusion.

"We're getting you ready," Aoi replied as she peeled off the imperial coat in one brisk stroke.

"Getting me ready?"

The small servant girl removed Arika's undershirt as Aoi tugged down her trousers.

"There's been a change of plans. Queen Mashiro needs you as yourself for tonight." Aoi unclasped her bra but Arika crossed her arms over her chest before it could be removed.

"I can change myself, you know," she grumbled, her face smoldering.

Aoi agreed.

"But it is my place to follow orders. And I am bound to do as the queen instructs."

Arika caught the impish glow on Aoi's face and wondered if she should be relieved or afraid.


	5. Chapter 3c

**The Dance of the Butterflies**

Part Three of Chapter Three

Mashiro had yet to descend to the ballroom floor. Her pulse fluttered with anxiety as she scanned the room full of people, on occasion darting a furtive glance toward the double-door entrance. Even high above as she was upon the second tier, she did not want to appear perturbed for fear that she might be noticed. Hiding behind her even tempered royal demeanor wasn't always as simple as putting on a mask; it took mental preparation, although she had been able to ease into her role far more easily as of late. Mashiro couldn't help but wonder if Arika had been right in her assessment when she said she was changing.

"_It's more than just sometimes," _Arika had confessed not so long ago._ "When you're in the presence of councilmen and diplomats, or before all of Windbloom, you seem to be so far way. I keep wondering if I can ever catch up or if I'll just fall behind."_

"_I think you're overestimating me," _Mashiro had answered.

"_No," _was Arika's definitive reply. _"I'm not. It's just that winged birds are meant for flight."_

Mashiro had raised a brow in surprise. Arika, for all her physical talents, was never much of a wordsmith, yet her words carried the weight of lyrical truth. But she was wrong. _Not all birds can fly_, she had wanted to tell her_. _Instead she sealed those words behind closed lips and buried them in her heart.

And yet Mashiro wasn't certain if she felt all that grown up as Arika had implied. It was true that the role she had been raised to play was becoming as fluid as the blood that pulsed in her veins. She had not been born for the role but she had certainly been bred for it. And as luck would have it, she was a natural in the role of Queen. But just because she was perfect for the role, it did not mean her heart would grow as cold and wan as the façade she wore.

As much as it frustrated her, she also envied how easily Arika wore her heart upon her sleeve. Her wide eyes knew no lies and the child-like features of her elfin face could not contain them. Even now, when she felt most like a school girl with a crush, Mashiro could not risk the projection of adolescent sentimentality. And yet, here she was, hiding just like the love struck school girl she had hoped to deny.

Mashiro moved lithely toward a grand pillar and pressed close against it, holding her breath as she tentatively peered below. Her hands felt clammy and cold against the white marble column, and her neck ached as she strained for a closer look.

"Is something the matter, Your Grace?" Captain Cardinal imposed, trailed by two imperial guardsmen of undefining features.

Mashiro turned and smiled. But her smile was thin and tense and her posture was awkwardly stiff. None of this was lost upon the captain, who felt all the more pressed to pry further, but something in the young queen's eyes made him hesitate. He had spied a gleaming in her eyes, a flicker of fear, but couldn't conceive as to why. Captain Cardinal could only surmise that perhaps it had been a trick of the lights, but nevertheless, chose to pursue no further.

He inhaled deeply before clearing his throat and moving on to other matters. "Meister Yumemiya has been readied," he reported. "The stage has been set and Miss Senoh is on standby, waiting for your cue."

The young queen's eyes cleared and the tension in her body was displaced, as if a serene wind had swept away her distress. The corners of her eyes and lips crinkled as a genuine smile kissed her lips.

"Thank you, Cardinal," she said warmly. "Please tell Aoi to bring her in fifteen minutes."

Captain Cardinal grinned and bowed then silently signaled one of his guardsmen. The imperial guard likewise bowed before the queen and eagerly turned without a second glance, to deliver the message.

"It seems the whole staff is looking forward to this." Captain Cardinal reflected with bemusement, hesitant to leave just yet. "That boy that just scampered off is one of her biggest fans, you know. Carries a picture of her in his helmet."

"I'm sure Arika will be elated to know that she has fans even among my guards," Mashiro said as she gave the imperial another glance before the uniformed youth disappeared beyond the corridor.

The captain laughed. "It's probably best to keep it quiet," he advised. "She's only bound to let it get to her head."

"Yes."

Mashiro walked alongside the banister, the silken trail of her gown gliding upon the pristine marble beneath her feet, and pulled out her long silk gloves from a hidden pocket in her dress. She paused to slide them on, searching once more through the crowd as she did so.

"Perhaps you would like to join the guests before it begins, Your Grace?" Captain Cardinal inquired, extending his elbow in a gentlemanly gesture. Mashiro nodded and linked her arm in his.

"Alright. Let's do this," she said. "I suppose I mustn't keep them waiting for too long."

* * *

Masaru Pitzer could have been a statue on the ballroom floor. In the hour since he had arrived, he had hardly moved more than three feet, and what little conversation he'd engaged consisted of no more than persuading the guests that he was not a waiter. The more time passed the more stupid he felt in his exceedingly simple black and white suit. The small black bow tie didn't help matters, but he was far too paralyzed by his own self consciousness to dare take it off. The ball had only just started but he couldn't imagine another hour of this, let alone five.

Just as he inwardly bemoaned the next three hundred minutes of hell he would have to endure before he could escape to his chambers, he glimpsed a ray of hope as Queen Mashiro and Captain Cardinal made their way down the staircase and to the ballroom floor. Prompted by the prospect of engaging the queen in conversation, Pitzer stiffly weaved and pushed through the crowds. But just as he approached her and before he could open his mouth to speak, an orange blaze cut past him.

"Mashiro!" Mai cried out as she approached her friend, oblivious to the stiff young Secretary of State standing behind her. The girls clasped hands, expressing excitement over their long overdue reunion. It had been months since they had sworn to 'meet soon' but complications with their own countries always lead them astray on their promise.

"Goodness! Have you gotten taller?" Mashiro exclaimed as she gave Mai a quick once over.

"No. You just haven't grown," Mai teased, and before Mashiro could protest, she raised her hands attesting that it was only a joke. Realizing now that he had no hope of engaging the queen, Masaru Pitzer shirked away unassumingly.

"I can already imagine the legal repercussions for offending the ruling body of Windbloom. In Zipang we still do beheadings," Mai informed, but the glint in her eyes affirmed that she was still joking. "Takumi is quite the bloodthirsty tyrant, you know."

"Oh? You should be careful. He might be listening nearby." Mashiro said, carefully wording her reply and her mouth suddenly very dry. She tried to hide it, but the moment Mai mentioned her younger brother's name, Mashiro's eyes had sparked with interest. _Where is he? _She wondered, fighting her instinct to canvass the crowds once again.

"No worries. He's not here." Mai answered, ignorant of the queen's dashed hopes. "That dope is such a working stiff. Had to stay in to tidy up on few issues with the legislature. But he should be here, soon."

"But he did say he was coming, right?"

"Yep. Said he wouldn't miss the queen's birthday for the world. But where are my manners? I came all the way over here and I have yet to wish you a happy b—"

"Happy birthday!" Mikoto burst loudly as she suddenly came between the two royals, having seemingly materialized from thin air.

Before the girls could make a reply, Mikoto fished into her pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a pocketful of grass and lint.

"It's for you," Mikoto said as she offered it to the young queen. Mashiro looked in Mikoto's cupped palm, baffled by the strange offer. Mai was just as equally taken back.

"What is it?" Mashiro dared to ask.

"A gift."

"A gift?" Mashiro peered curiously and suspiciously at Mikoto's hand, wondering how pocket lint could be considered a gift, when Mai voiced her own doubts.

"I dunno, Mikoto. Doesn't look like a gift to me," Mai said, taking a closer look of her own.

Confused by their uncertainty, Mikoto looked down at her hand and quickly realized her mistake. She picked off the grass and lint and revealed what had been hidden beneath; a glittering red pearl.

"Sorry about," she said as she placed the pearl in Mashiro's hand. The pearl was surprisingly warm, and upon closer inspection the young queen realized that it didn't glitter, but rather it had a pulsating glow.

"It's a truth." Mikoto explained.

"A truth." Mashiro echoed. "Is that some kind of metaphor?"

Mikoto shook her head. "No. Just a truth. But only one."

Before Mashiro could ask her to explain, a waiter carrying a platter of mini cucumber sandwiches walked past and Mikoto bounced away after him. Mai shook her head and sighed.

"She said practically the same thing about a deck of cards she gave me last year," Mai explained. "Only that time it was a 'draw of luck, but only once.' More like a 'truth' that she's a 'cheapskate' if you ask me. That's probably not even a real pearl."

The girls laughed, but were soon interrupted by Captain Cardinal.

"We must get going, Your Grace. Miss Senoh should be arriving shortly with Meister Yumemiya."

"Give us just one more minute," Mashiro replied, only now realizing how little time she had left. Captain Cardinal nodded and placed distance between them.

"Mai," Mashiro said as soon as the captain had stepped out of earshot. "There's something that I've been meaning to ask you. About Takumi; he isn't—" _Engaged? Dating?_ _Hunting for a wife? _No matter how she might put it, it made her seem interested. Mashiro didn't know how to ask without seeming so personally invested.

"He isn't disappointed in me is he?" It had not been the question she wanted to ask, but it was a question that nevertheless haunted her.

"Why do you ask?" Mai inquired, thrown back by the by Mashiro's question.

"It just that there was once a time when he was."

Mai felt silent. This was not a question for her to answer, and she realized that perhaps Mashiro was seeking some other kind of truth. But whatever truth she sought, neither Mai nor some glow rock would be the ones to give it to her.

With a quick tap of his watch, Captain Cardinal ushered Mashiro away with only enough time to dispense a quick goodbye as she pocketed her small shining 'truth' into the hidden inner lining of her gown.

* * *

Arika was beginning to suspect that she was at the center of some practical joke. Not since the Queen's little disappearance act on their fifteen birthday, had Arika ever have to dress the role of a courtier. A formal gown seemed far too inappropriate. What if she was suddenly called upon to fight? A gown and heels would only impede her attacks and reaction time. But she was being ridiculous and she knew it.

One look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and it was not hard for her to see that it was the delicate femininity gazing back at her that formed knots in her stomach. _This isn't for me_, she thought. _I'm not beautiful or majestic like a bird in flight._

_"Did you know?"_ Meister Viola had once told her. "_Even a hen can aspire to flight."_

Arika had not known how to interpret Meister Viola's unusual expressions. There were already so many of them that had been laid to waste away in the periphery of her mind. She wasn't even certain how their conversation had taken this turn.

_"Why are we even talking about chickens?"_ Had been Arika's naïve response. It had been enough to solicit a chuckle from Shizuru, but not enough to elicit an answer that she could understand.

_"It is precisely because all birds are meant for flight that makes them so tragic."_

_Tragic? The chickens? Nonsense words_, thought Arika.

_"So then, are you saying that I am a chicken?"_ And yet again another frustrating laugh. Arika was beginning to detest riddles. If she remembered correctly, just weeks before their subject of conversation had been the tragedy of fireflies. _Or was it butterflies?_

"Okay, it's time," Said Aoi as she cracked open the bathroom door and peered inside.

Arika nodded. Whatever game they were playing at, she had no choice but to play along. She took one last glance in the mirror at the stranger staring back with her face. _Do you know me better than I know myself?_ She silently asked her reflection. _Who knows the truth anymore?_

**Author's Note:**

Okay, so the flash back is not quite done. My outline was more ambitious that I'd initially expected and I'm already several pages into the next part, so I've opted to post what I have in order to appease you, the readers.


	6. Chapter 3d

**The Dance of the Butterflies**

_Part Four of Chapter Three_

Mashiro Blan de Windbloom ascended the staircase with the confidence that was typical of her countenance. The ballroom lights grew dim, revealing the spotlight that followed after her. And the clamor of the many dozen overlapping conversations which had reverberated in the room became a hush of curious whispers. When she faced the mass of guests, most of who had crowded around the foot of the staircase, she did not expose a twitch of discomfort. Yet it wasn't just the party guests she was bound to address; the strategically situated camera crew ensured that her address would extend to the whole kingdom.

The young Secretary of State couldn't help but wonder how the queen could maintain such calm. It wasn't just the camera she faced; leaders of great nations, republics and principalities were among the crowd of guests that looked up from the foot of the staircase. Masaru felt more than a little unnerved by the young queen's demeanor. Although he was going on twenty-nine years, he was still considered young and inexperienced by most courtiers and politicians, but the queen, who was still very much the teenager, had garnered respect by personality alone.

"Impressed, are we?"

Masaru looked up beside him to the owner of those words; and there stood Meister Shizuru Viola and Garderobe Headmistress Natsuki Kruger. He recognized them immediately as they had both been present at his appointment to Secretary of State just weeks prior.

Meister Viola smiled politely.

"It's just that she's not afraid. Not in the slightest. And so young, too. This must be a result of royal breeding," he whispered.

"I wouldn't say that," Meister Viola replied.

Masaru was not convinced.

"Any brat could be a monarch, Secretary Pitzer," said Meister Viola. "But only a precious few can be leaders."

But the Secretary of State had little time to dwell on those words.

"Thank you so much for coming," Mashiro began, and the ballroom stood still with silence. "Many of you have traveled from great distances just to be here on my behalf, and many others have chosen to embrace this day as a day of significance; for that I am humbled and honored."

Arika followed Aoi into the darkened ballroom just moments after Mashiro began her address. In spite of standing high above the spectators, under the pressure of lights and cameras, Mashiro remained the picture of serenity and propriety, and Arika couldn't help but to swell with admiration of the queen's temperance.

The crowding guests listened closely, hanging upon every word as Mashiro addressed each present leader. Subtly expressive and intelligent, she spoke of interdependence between nations and bridging cultural differences wedged by cultural constructivism. But her political address was brief.

"This is after all, a birthday celebration, and not a political campaign." She laughed softly and a ripple of chuckles resonated from the crowd.

"So I thank you again for accepting me into your lives." Mashiro said as she brought her address to a close. "And you can trust that I will continue to serve this kingdom, not just as a monarch, but as a citizen in civil service to the crown and its people, who are the true pillars of this nation…" She spied Arika and Aoi in the crowd.

"…and with that in mind, I'd like to take this opportunity to honor an extraordinary citizen. Someone who is the embodiment of strength and compassion, who is loyal and just but not afraid to raise questions. And whose childlike view of the world never fails to keep me grounded, even when she's being a pain in the neck." Mashiro paused briefly and nodded.

Aoi immediately took her cue and nudged Arika forward, out from the crowd of guests. Arika stumbled awkwardly toward the staircase, nearly slipping on her heels when a blindingly brilliant spotlight beamed upon her. A murmur of laughter rose from the crowd as the startled Meister struggled to regained her balance. She narrowed her eyes up the staircase to her queen who was aglow in a stark white beam of light, much like her own. She was like a dream.

"Arika Yumemiya," Mashiro said as she extended her arm toward her. "This honor is for you." With that said, Mashiro took a few steps back and took hold of a braided gold rope tassel, before giving it a strong tug.

A third light illuminated the upper walls behind her where a strategically placed large red velvet curtain conspicuously hung over a canvass. With a yank, the curtain came cascading down and flopped heavily to the floor, revealing the painted portrait that had been hidden beneath. It was a thing of utter beauty, and perhaps that was why the guests were agape with silence. The silly face they were accustomed to was splayed before them, yet there was nothing silly or childish of the face they saw. Eyes gazing downward and lips slightly parted, behind her a flutter of fallen feathers encompassed her, each paint stroke in a variant shade of gold.

Arika was likewise still with shock, unable to fully reconcile the portrait before her with her own self image. _That can't be me_, she rationalized, _it's too beautiful._

Her eyes met Mashiro's, burning with questions, but Mashiro only smiled back and motioned for her to join her. And yet, Arika remained dumbstruck. She couldn't say how long she remained frozen at the foot of the staircase; she felt so detached from time. Yet somehow she was making her way up the staircase, and she soon realized that Mashiro herself was guiding her up the stairs by the hand, their fingers firmly entwined.

When they reached the top, the applause grew louder, and with some prompting from Mashiro, Arika took a humbled bow before the crowd of guests. With a quick glance to her hand, she realized that Mashiro had not yet let go, and she felt all the more relieved for it. Arika had never been one to be shy and withdrawn, but she felt more than a little humbled by the honor she was receiving. She did not feel so deserving; in fact, she felt somewhat guilty.

"It's okay," Mashiro whispered in her ear, her warm breath making the hairs on her neck stand on end. "I'm right here."

Arika's throat went dry and words failed her. She took a breath then something between a sob and a laugh got choked in her throat.

"Thank you," she finally managed. Anything more or less would have been just as inadequate.

* * *

"She's beautiful," Duke McAllister remarked. "But it seems wrong somehow."

"Oh?" Mashiro replied. "How do you mean?"

The pair stood just feet away from the canvass; around them a few party guests strolled along the marble floors of the second tier. The ball had resumed following the unveiling, and the guests were once again clamoring in multitudes of conversations. Arika had regained her composure and was presently engaged in conversation with several friends from her Garderobe days. Once the camera crew had bagged away their equipment, Duke McAllister quickly made his way to the young queen, eager as always for her company.

"Her expression is too delicate and soft," he answered. "Not exactly the symbolic pillar you spoke of. But more importantly, it's not an expression anyone could image on a girl who is hardly the picture of solemnity."

"No, it's not," Mashiro concede. "But it's not wrong."

The duke raised a brow. "You had it commissioned, then, to your specifications?"

Mashiro couldn't deny the rise at the corners of her lips. She was exceedingly amused by the young duke. "You are fairly insightful, aren't you?"

"So?" He pressed on.

"It was a photograph," she conceded. "I gave the artist a photograph that I took of her last summer. She never even realized I took it, she'd been so distracted."

"And the feathers?" He probed.

"The feathers?"

"In the painting. Perhaps there was some pillow play involved," he suggested coyly.

Mashiro furrowed her brows in disapproval and stiffened.

"It's not like that between us." Mashiro replied tartly. "She's a friend. A dear friend; and I'd prefer that you didn't go around making any kind of unwarranted insinuations about the _nature_ of our relationship."

"Like the thing between you and the Zipang prince?" Duke McAllister realized he was being rather cruel; however it was far from his intentions. In fact, it was a subject that he had been meaning to bring it up for quite some time. "Or is that nothing too?"

Mashiro's lips parted slightly with surprise, then a wave of fury came over her. She stared coldly into the duke's eyes, all traces of amusement completely drained from her face. "I don't see how any of this is any of your concern," she said. Her voice quivered with rage as she began to lose control of her emotional restraint.

A melancholic smile formed on the duke's lips. "It's not, really," he answered. "And yet it is. I had hoped that you might consider me. I still hope, actually."

"What are you talking about?" She demanded, her face flushed with anger.

"Mashiro, you can't be so naïve as to my intentions. I am talking about what everyone is talking about in the kingdom. We've been dancing around this matter for months now, although I realize that you've mostly been avoiding it." he replied.

"I haven't—"

"You have," he cut her off. "Don't get me wrong, I understand your feelings. I do. But Prince Takumi is no more than a girlish dream. You're still new to all these complicated feelings, so you probably don't see it so clearly. I had hoped you'd realize it sooner than later to avoid the pain that is sure to come, but-"

"That's enough, Tate." Mashiro snapped. "You're not so much older than me that you can talk to me like you're some wise sage. You don't know what's inside my heart."

"Is that so?"

Mashiro stiffened and looked away, refusing to answer any further, afraid she might burst into some childish tantrum. The duke was quick to pick up on her posture. Without a word, Mashiro had ended the conversation; but the duke was not quite finished yet.

"The reason Prince Takumi has been delayed," Duke McAllister began, hating himself for what he was about to do. "Is not because he has to address legislature, as you have been lead to believe. It is because he is in session with his cabinet members to address objections over his recent engagement to a commoner."

Mashiro hadn't been prepared for the duke's revelation. She responded with absolute disbelief, calling him a liar and a social climber, but the look of regret in his eyes made her realize that he spoke the truth. That was when the tears came pouring down her face. She was shocked at first, unable to reconcile herself with her sudden aching grief. When she accepted it, she buried her face in the duke's chest and grabbed onto his jacket with clenched fists like a small child. Calm came to her only when Duke McAllister's arms came around her in a comforting embrace.

To the few party guests who had born witness to the couple's embrace, it seemed that perhaps the circulating rumors about their queen's secret engagement to the duke were true. Queen Mashiro appeared to cling rather passionately to the duke.

"Perhaps we should dance," the duke suggested as he unassumingly wiped the tears from her cheeks, realizing that people were beginning to take notice of them.

Mashiro nodded and he took her by the crook of the arm as they made their way down the stairs and to the ballroom floor. However, no one was dancing and there was no music to dance to. The duke flagged down the Windbloom Captain who'd been standing guard nearby. He whispered into the middle aged man's ear and the Captain hurried off to the Orchestra maestro. Within moments a waltz began resonating within the hall and the surprised guests immediately took to their cues and cleared the dance floor for the queen and the duke.

Arika made her way through the crowd of guests that massed around the dancing pair. She found a clearing and stared unobstrued at the couple. A soft lit spotlight shown over them as the ballroom slowly dimmed. Mai Tokiha and Shiho Huit, who had just arrived, came up behind Arika as they pushed their way through. A waiter squeezed by and elbowed Shiho in the ribs. She gasped loudly but was surprised that the waiter had continued on without as much as a pardon. Her eyes narrowed with resentment as they bore through his back and she fought back the urge to spiral him through the roof.

"He's a good dancer," Mai pointed out. "Even by courtly standards."

It took Shiho a moment to realize that Mai was referring to the Duke of Gristholm. Arika ignored Mai's comment and looked on somberly, a tightness forming in her chest.

"Yuuichi never liked to dance," Shiho uttered just above her breath. Her face was as solemn as Arika's.

"Yuuichi?" Mai asked.

Shiho shook her head. She hadn't intended her words for anyone but herself, and was surprised to realize that she had spoken them out loud.

"Nobody, really," Shiho replied tactfully. "Just someone I used to know."

Behind them the guests murmured with excitement at the possible implications of the dancing couple. Arika tried to tune out their voices, feeling more and more irate by their incessant chatter. Her jaw involuntarily clenched and the temples of forehead dully ached.

"I don't like it," Arika muttered.

"Hm?" Mai gave Arika a questioning glance.

"He's too tall for her."

Queen Mashiro and Duke McAllister could not hear the excited whispers of the guests over the orchestra's song. The duke was relived for that although he knew very well that the guests were likely talking about them. Mashiro was noticeably calmer and the redness in her face had subsided.

"Tate," Mashiro said softly.

"Yes?"

"I'll think about it."

Mashiro looked the duke in the eyes and was met with a look of warmth.

"Thanks," he replied. "That's all I ask for."

They finished their slow waltz as the music came to an end and gradually pulled away from each other. The duke took Mashiro's gloved hand in his and gingerly pressed it against his lips.

"Mashiro, we have this custom in my country," he told her. "Whenever a first son is born to a royal family, the mother's family name is substituted for his given name. Only those closest to him will ever know his true given name."

Mashiro twisted her brows with confusion.

"Tate, why are you telling me this?"

"Because I am a first born son and my true given name is Yuuichi. I needed you to know this."

After the queen and the duke's waltz, the dance floor was swarming with pairs. Nina and Sergay Wang were among the dancers along with a rambunctious Mikoto who made it her duty to ensure that Nina and Sergay did not enjoy a moment without her presence. Anxious to join the guests on the dance floor, Aoi asked a flustered Sakomizu Cardinal onto the dance floor. The captain turned red with embarrassment but accepted the invitation.

Duke McAllister disappeared from the ballroom floor and Arika presumed that Mashiro had gone along with him somewhere beyond the prying eyes of the guests. But that was not the case. Just as Arika began to take a tentatively sip from her champagne flute, a pair of warm hands pulled at her waist from behind. Champagne spilled from her flute and splattered down her chest and a small shriek escaped her lips.

"Mashiro!" She was surprised to turn and find Mashiro standing before her, grinning broadly.

"Just the person I was looking for," Mashiro proclaimed distractedly as she turned to a passing unsuspecting waiter and snatched an unopened champagne bottle from the silver platter he carried.

"Here," Mashiro said as she thrust the bottle to Arika. "Hold this while I grab another."

Arika didn't know what to make of Mashiro's unusual behavior. Three years ago it wouldn't have been so terribly unusual for the queen to behave so unruly, but now it was downright out of character.

Mashiro nabbed a second bottled and took Arika by the hand.

"Let's go!" she said as she dashed forward and a perplexed Arika dragged behind her.

The festivities went on without them but they were hardly missed as alcohol was generously poured throughout the rest of the night. Mashiro led Arika into her chambers and pushed the door closed behind them. She took the champagne bottle from Arika's hands and set it down on the dresser then pulled out a corkscrew from the secret compartment in her dress, which she had stolen earlier from the kitchen. As she did so, the red pebble slipped out her pocket and clinked onto the floor, rolling across the marble until it was stopped by Arika's heels.

She picked up the pebble and was startled when it began to shimmer as soon as it made contact with her fingers. She eyed it closely, wondering where and how a battery could possibly fit into such a small sphere.

"What's this?" Arika asked. Mashiro looked up as she struggled to twist off the cork from the bottle.

"Hm? Oh, that. It was a gift from Mikoto."

Arika was still trying to make sense of it when Mashiro popped open the bottle of champagne. The cork shot up the ceiling and pierced through the light, effectively rendering it dead. The girls gasped in surprise but the room was not cast into darkness as they would have expected. The shimmering pearl had cast them in a pulsing red glow.

"Oh. It's a night light." Arika surmised.

Mashiro laughed and poured champagne into paper cups.

"Here," she said as she handed Arika a cup. Arika accepted it and took a small sip, still not certain what she was doing in Mashiro's room or what to make of the queen's sudden easy attitude.

"Did something happen?" Arika asked nervously, unable to meet her eyes.

"Lots of things happened," Mashiro replied nonchalantly. "It was a busy night."

Mashiro gulped down her drink and plopped down on the edge of her bed. The warmth of the champagne spread across her chest and down her belly, she felt light and heavy all at once.

"It's warm," she said then walked to her dresser and pulled out her favorite pair of satin pant pajamas. "I'll be right back," she said as she headed into the adjourning bathroom.

Arika stood stiffly still holding onto her cup and the glowing pearl in the other as she contemplated leaving for her room when Mashiro called her over.

Arika pushed open the bathroom door and found Mashiro with her back to her and holding up her hair.

"Can you help unzip me?"

She nodded and put down her cup on the counter. With hands trembling, Arika pulled cautiously at the zipper to avoid having any of the silk caught in the teeth. She was also feeling warm and wondered if perhaps the small sip of champagne was the culprit.

"Is that good?" Mashiro nodded and let the gown drop to her feet. Before she had turned around, Arika had already made it out the door, champagne in hand.

"I have another set of pajamas in the dresser," Mashiro called out as she changed. "Why don't you go ahead and change into them. There's no point in going all the way back to your room just to get your pajamas. This way we can get started on our girls' night, ne?"

By the time Mashiro reentered the room; Arika had lit the candle on night stand and already changed into the queen's pajama shorts and top. The top turned out to be a snug fit and Arika wished she had bothered with the trip to her room after all. As embarrassed as she was, Mashiro hardly seemed to notice.

"Come on, let's celebrate," Mashiro said as she poured more champagne into their paper cups. It wasn't long before the girls had polished off the bottle and were giddy drunk, although Mashiro kept insisting otherwise.

"You are _so_ drunk," Arika insisted. Mashiro lay face up and sprawled on her bed, her eyes closed, but clearly still awake.

"No. No. Just lightheaded. See? I'm fine." To prove her point she tried to push herself up into a sitting position but her arms could not bear the weight. "Arika, get off me. You're heavy," Mashiro bemoaned. This only incited laughter from her friend.

"I'm not even near you! See, I told you. You are _so, so _drunk!"

Mashiro plopped her head back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, ignoring Arika's drunken laughter.

"I thought it would feel better," the queen said somberly.

Arika's laughter died away and she crawled her way across the bed to Mashiro.

"Something _did_ happen tonight, didn't it?"

Mashiro closed her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to talk about Takumi. After all, he had been nothing more than a fantasy; Tate had been right about that. Takumi had never been hers for her to lose, but it hurt all the same.

When Mashiro didn't reply, Arika began to wonder if she had fallen asleep. She moved closer and whispered softly in her ear.

"Did he propose?"

Mashiro opened her eyes and gazed into Arika's anxious face.

"Yes," she replied. "Sort of."

Arika didn't know what to make of that answer. How does someone 'sort of' propose? She thought about it for another moment until she remembered the conversation she had with the duke earlier that day.

"What—what did you tell him?"

"I said I'd think about it."

Arika shouldn't have been so surprised and yet she was. The room was suddenly suffocating and she found it difficult to breath. Mashiro must have noticed because she asked her if she was alright, but Arika ignored the question and asked one of her own.

"Do you like him?" She was far too cowardly to ask if she loved him. She wasn't sure why, but felt that an affirmative answer to her unspoken question would create a wide gap between their friendship. _Why can't I be happy for her? She's my friend._

"I don't know," Mashiro answered after a moment of pondering. "I don't _not_ like him."

The candle on the night stand went out, burnt to the end of the wick. Arika searched the bed for the 'night light' rock that Mikoto had given Mashiro. Mashiro quickly caught on as to what she was doing and began to search too, her head much clearer than it had been just minutes before.

"Ah, I found it!" Arika proclaimed needlessly. As soon as she made contact with the pearl it began to glow.

"Think it'll stay lit in water?" She asked her tipsy queen. Mashiro shrugged, but it was all the prompting Arika needed. She popped open the second bottle of champagne and dropped the pearl inside before Mashiro could protest. Miraculously enough, it stayed lit.

"Arika! That wasn't very clean," Mashiro pointed out, but Arika ignored her protests and took a swig directly from the bottle.

"It's okay," she replied as she passed the bottle to Mashiro. "It's alcohol, so it's self cleaning." She sat cross legged on the bed next to her.

The queen stared dubiously at the bottle before tentatively bringing it to her lips and taking a sip. Feeling courageous, Mashiro took a second drink, this one much longer than the first, but she had tried to swallow too much at once and it spilled down her pajama top. Arika laughed and stole the bottle back to take her turn. Unbeknownst to them, the glittering pearl was fizzing and rapidly dissolving in the champagne, but the glow was no less brilliant once the pearl had completely dissipated in the alcohol.

"I'm glad you're here," Mashiro confessed. "I'm feeling better already."

"Yeah?" Arika uttered as she subconsciously moved closer.

"Uh-huh." Mashiro's eyes lids fluttered and her torso swayed. She leaned forward and rested against the sitting Arika. Until now, Arika had been feeling just as drowsy and lightheaded as Mashiro, but as soon as the queen pressed herself against her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders for support, Arika was jolted wide awake.

"The room is spinning," Mashiro mumbled so close to Arika's ear. The meister trembled nervously as Mashiro's hot breath tickled her neck.

"Mashiro," Arika said, nudging her shoulder. "Mashiro, wake up. I need to get to bed and you need to get under the covers."

Mashiro eyes fluttered open and she used Arika's shoulders to push herself up. Arika's alcohol blushed cheeks grew redder and she instinctually leaned forward.

"Mashiro," she whispered. Mashiro had not yet realized just how close Arika's face was from hers. When she looked up to reply, she had done no more than part her lips to speak when she felt Arika's lips against hers. There was no time to think. Arika's kisses were warm and soft, so soft they tickled her lips. Mashiro kissed back timidly, unsure if she was doing it right. Then Arika's arms came sliding down her back and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Her kisses grew urgent too, her lips more demanding as she coaxed Mashiro's lips apart and suckled her lower lip. Mashiro silently obeyed, just as caught up in the moment as Arika was. Her body grew warm as a dull ache formed at the pit of her stomach.

Their lips parted and Mashiro struggled to catch her breath. Arika pressed her back against the mattress and kissed her again, tasting the inside of her mouth as her hands slid down to her hips and crawled back up her back, warm fingers against naked flesh.

Mashiro slid her hands up Arika's bare shoulders and down her back. _I never knew kissing could be so nice_, she thought, wondering if she was dreaming. Without a second thought, she slid her legs up and hugged them around Arika's waist.

Arika felt an electric jolt in her hips and pulled back, startled and confused. She searched Mashiro's face and was sobered by her queen's swollen lips and heavy breathing. _What am I doing?_ She pondered as she grew consumed with self-loathing. Even as she bereated herself, she couldn't help but contemplate the flavor of the queen's lip balm. _Peaches, perhaps?_

She leaned forward once again, entranced by the inviting lips before her; her desires fumed once more as soft fingertips traced along her jaw and down the jut of her chin. Mashiro smiled back, the warm glow of alcohol difussed in her eyes. In her drunken state, Arika appeared to radiate a warm golden glow, much like the painting that hung high above the ballroom; and as she closed her eyes one last time before giving into sleep, Mashiro could have sworn she saw a pair of brilliant golden wings protruding from Arika's back.

* * *

They didn't bring it up the next day, or any day after that. Arika's hair was a mangled mess at the breakfast table and she spent the entire meal complaining about her massive hang over. Mashiro played along, feigning a headache and professing that she could not remember much after her greatly talked about dance with Duke McAllister.

_Does she not remember?_ Mashiro wondered, but she could discern nothing from Arika's childish behavior.

_Don't let her remember_. Is all Arika hoped. _And if she does, let her think it was a bad dream.

* * *

_

It was just minutes after noon when the duke entered the ballroom. He found the queen at the top of the stairs staring up at the portrait, just as he had found her yesterday.

"You wanted to see me?" Tate said, skipping the usual greetings.

Mashiro nodded, trying to find the words to speak.

"Is this about your answer?" he asked, feeling uneasy. He had expected the queen to give his request some lengthy consideration and hadn't expected to hear from her for another week, at the very least.

"Tate," the queen proceeded cautiously, intentionally avoiding calling him by his true given name. "I can't. Not right now."

"Something else has happened, hasn't it? Something's changed."

"You could say that" Mashiro replied. "I received a dose of truth last night, and it wasn't what I thought it was going be."

The duke looked up and appeared to gaze upon the painting as he tried to collect his scattered thoughts. Mashiro bit her lower lip nervously, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm very fond of you," he said after stretch of silence. "You're genuine when it comes to your kingdom and your people. You care in a way that most leaders don't. When you make mistakes, you don't hide from them or cast them onto others, you wear them like a badge of honor." He took her hand in his and gently stroked. "Last night you said Arika was the embodiment of strength, of loyalty and compassion; I see those exact same things in you in nearly everything you do. You are my ideal."

"But you don't love me," Mashiro told him and gently pulled her hand away.

"No," he replied. "Love isn't always a privilege for people like us. Even Prince Takumi won't be able to escape that fate. But there is fondness. I don't think we value it as much as we should."

"Tate, I still can't say yes."

He nodded, consigned to her answer.

"You can call me Yuuichi," he said. "That is, when we are alone."

Before Mashiro could object, the duke pressed a finger against her lips to silence her.

"It's okay," he told her. "Above all else, I am still your friend."

He left shortly after that but Mashiro stayed behind, unable to tear away from the thoughts that plagued her mind.

"_A truth_," she said out loud, gazing at the portrait and pressed her fingers against her lips_. "But only one."_

And one was all it took.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE****:**

I didn't edit before posting, so sorry for any mistakes. The last three scenes didn't come out as I had planned, so let me know if it worked for you or not. Also, I won't be posting anymore chapters at least for 6-8 weeks due to pressures to get my thesis done.

So now, go ahead and review. Tell me what you thought. I'm a bit anxious about this chapter, so your feedback would be appreciated.


	7. Chapter 4

**The Dance of the Butterflies**

Chapter 4

_"The Council Elect has approved the engagement between Mashiro and the Gristholm Sovereign."_

Her mouth was dry and painfully so. The constriction in her throat was like a massive knot lodged in her esophagus, denying the passage of any sound. She vaguely recalled the resonating clink of the silver hairpins as they dropped onto the marble floors but she made no effort to pick them up. She dared not. The room had grown painfully still and any movement could threaten to undo that silence. Painful as it was, time seemed to have stopped, and for the moment she didn't have to think about what was to happen next. She could deal with the suspension of time; after all, knowing what the future held was far less painful than its actualization. But the twittering song of a swallow perched outside the window broke her silence far too quickly. With no pertinent need to keep still, she walked past Shizuru, to the window.

Aoi looked on nervously. "Arika," she began to say, without any idea of the words that should follow, but Shizuru shook her head and Aoi spoke no further.

Arika pressed her cool fingers upon the glass and exhaled warm breath against the surface. Her transparent reflection vanished beneath the fog that formed on the window. A dull ache took shape at the base of her neck and quickly spread up along her temples and her face flushed red as a stifling heat swelled along her ears and her cheeks.

_Gristholm, Gristholm…_She repeated mentally like a rhythmic chant. _Gristholm_…A shadowed form appeared in her mind with a striking familiarity she couldn't quite place. The memory gradually took shape as a cloud dissipated from her mind's eye, and in the clearing of her thoughts stood the image of Duke Tate McAllister.

_He was from Gristholm, wasn't he?_ She felt troubled as she recalled how close Mashiro came to marrying the young duke. His presence in the Windbloom court had borne her with distress. But as quickly as he had arrived, he had gone, although his sudden absence had not gone unnoticed. Rumors clamored over the duke's departure with wild speculations of secret love affairs and political conspiracies. Arika had been approached on the matter on occasion by acquaintances and gossip columnists who'd buzzed around her for the next juicy tidbit, but she knew little more than anyone else. Not that she would ever admit that.

The morning of Duke McAllister's departure had been like any other. In fact, there had been no grand announcement of his leaving at all. Arika had assumed his trip had something to do with his role as diplomatic envoy for the Grand Duke. He had acted no different than his usual self-satisfied arrogance, and yet so many suitcases and crates had been loaded onto the transport dock.

He must have caught the bewildered look on her face because within moments he was just inches from her, his brazen hands lifting her chin to meet his gaze and taking her firmly by the waist like some forlorn lover.

"_Will you miss me, my lovely protector?"_ He had uttered with suggestive playfulness.

"_What are you doing?" _Had been all she could muster as she took a startled step back. Yet even as she pulled away he had taken her hand and pressed a chaste kiss against it.

"_Take care of her," _he had then whispered as he leaned closer.

When he turned to Mashiro, the atmosphere quickly turned intimate and Arika suppressed the urge to leave them, to stomp away, the resounding clank of her shoes bursting the bubble of their closed off little world. But she didn't. She stood witness as he planted a kiss on the corner of Mashiro's lips, lingering longer than Arika would have liked.

It was hard not to miss the pink glow on Mashiro's face as she watched the duke disappear into the transport, and she wondered what it was that Mashiro was not telling her.

"_He's not coming back, is he?"_

"_No," _Mashiro had replied definitively.

"_Then, the engagement?"_

But Mashiro had refused to answer with no more than the shake of her head.

Arika clenched her jaw as she drew away from that memory. _The visiting sovereign…it's not him, right?_ _He was only the Grand Ducal envoy back then._

"It's not him. It can't be him, right?" She turned to Meister Shizuru for confirmation, her eyes wide and her voice somewhat strained.

Shizuru said nothing, replying with no more than a sympathetic gaze. Her lips appeared to be pursed in a half smile, and Arika swelled with resentment.

"This isn't the first time the Council Elect has given their approval," she went on after the unnerving pause. "They're always approving prospective marriage partners for her. Masaru Pisser must've approved five of them in the past year. He should have a stamp made."

"It's not going to go away this time, Arika. The situation is far more complicated," Shizuru finally replied. The tone of her voice would have soothed a baby to sleep, but Arika only grew irritated by the certainty in the Meister's words. There hadn't been a trace of doubt in her reply.

"What do you mean?" Arika demanded, her eyes glowering under her thinly veiled restraint. Aoi, who had wanted no more than to be dismissed from their presence, dropped her gaze, preferring the serenity of the marble floors.

"Gristholm has fallen into civil war. Duke McAllister staged a coup and seized control of the grand duchy."

"Why? Why would he..." Talk of Mashiro's engagement was briefly forgotten as Arika struggled to grasp this news. Her hardened expression softened into perplexity and the guarded tension in her body waned.

"Tate is the Grand Duke's younger half brother," the meister explained. "They share a father. But as he is his mother's eldest son, he heads the household to the second most powerful family in Gristholm."

"I don't understand. What does all that mean?" For Arika, putting two and two together in the arena of politics never amounted to much logic. Meister Shizuru may as well have tried to explain trigonometric derivative functions. Her grasp on the matter would not have been any less insightful.

"Like I said, it's complicated."

"Takeda Solise," Arika uttered with an absentminded expression.

Shizuru raised an impressed brown. "So you have been doing your reading. Secretary Pitzer is of the impression that your reading materials were being used as pillows."

Arika preferred to ignore the comment. Any thoughts and impressions Secretary Pitzer had about her were best buried.

"The Solise family was some kind of big shot family in the Threcian Empire before they ruled over Gristholm, right? But they got booted out or something."

Shizuru nodded. "Gristholm and the Cardair Empire were once ducal territories of the Threcian Empire. Rivaling royal families struggled for control over the Threcian Crown, so the Crowned Prince offered the two most powerful families ducal control over strategic territories."

"Like a bribe then?"

"Exactly like a bribe." Shizuru replied. "To Juren Argos IX he gave rule over the Cardair Province, and to Kaito Solise he gave Gristholm, in exchange they gave up any future claim to the Threcian throne. Not his best move, though. Within three decades the Crown lost sovereignty over both regions, and the rest is ancient history."

Arika struggled to juggle the out pour of information, not clear as to what to make of it.

"But what does any of it have to do with Mashiro?" she demanded as anger slowly returned to her. "Who cares about what happened a long time ago in some dusty old history book!"

"It matters because it didn't just _happen_ in 'some dusty old history book,'" Shizuru replied, her eyes now vacant of their warm glow, and yet her expression had gone unchanged.

"A monarch's fate is just as affected by the past as it is by the now. Grand Duke Takeda Solise isn't just some displaced small time tyrant and Gristholm is not some mere distant duchy. We've always counted on the fact that Gristholm was neutral territory, but if the rumors are true and Solise runs off to Threcia to bargain an alliance in exchange for help in the recapture of Gristholm, then our borders are compromised. And we both know that Threcia isn't the only empire with its eyes on Windbloom."

_This is stupid! This is so stupid! _Arika screamed inwardly. _Everyone…everything…it's all so stupid!_

"I hate this!" She snapped. "I hate dukes and empires. I hate the council and Masaru. Why can't they just leave things alone? All they do is muddle things up! And that stupid duke! Why can't he bother someone else?"

She was like a child whose favorite toy had been snatched away, her eyes so close to tears. Aoi couldn't fault her for her immature outburst. She recognized all too well what it was that Arika stood to lose, and she couldn't help but ache for her. Yet as much as Arika fought back with self-indulgent tantrums, she was doing no more than grasping at straws.

"The world is watching, Arika." Shizuru explained with less disdain, trying not to betray the remorse suppressed within her voice. "And because the world is watching, this needs to happen. The council sees this. I see it. And Mashiro sees it too."

Arika's eyes grew wide as if she had been struck. "Then…"

"He bothers you, doesn't he?" It seemed to Aoi that Meister Shizuru was simply stating the obvious. It was no secret among the castle staff that Arika held a tolerant contempt for Duke McAllister. Their banter had always been playful enough, but there was genuine disdain in Arika's regard for him.

Yet she could not react. She heard the words that spilled from Meister Shizuru's lips, but they were no more than sounds disconnected from meaning. Her thoughts had trespassed into a minefield without the hope of reparation. Her bottom lip quivered as her heart grew consumed with gnawing alarm. Though she was cold and trembled as a chill shimmered up her back, her skin was damp with a thin sheen of perspiration. The trembling spread down her arms and to her fingers and within her chest, much in the same way as a ripple in water. It pushed up from the pit of her stomach bubbling up her chest and into sobs. But before they could take shape, she bit down hard on her lip stifling any sound from coming through.

"_I would have said 'yes'," _Mashiro had confessed to Arika in another time and another place. _"If the circumstances had been right, my answer would have been 'yes'."_

"_You…wanted…to say yes, then?"_

_"It's just…he's really not so bad." _She had answered, not really addressing the question, and a distant look in her eyes that forced Arika to turn away, overwhelmed by its implications. But Mashiro had not missed the look on her face as she'd looked away.

"_Arika, Is that really so awful of me? Is it?"_

"No," she replied absently. "But he just scares me. He's not like all the others." _...You keep a piece of him in your heart..._But it was said too late. Years too late she realized, as it was Meister Shizuru's eyes she met and not Mashiro's.

Shizuru nodded. "It's okay to be afraid. Big changes are on the horizon."

Arika pressed her head against the cold window pane and dropped her gaze to the cedar gazebo overlooking the duck pond below. Mashiro stood leaning inconspicuously against the railing as the sun melted into the high-rise buildings in an orange blaze. Her robes danced in the cool breeze and her hair was swept over her face but she had not bothered to pull it back. It would have made no difference. The demands of the northern winds knew no compromise.

"That's why you need me right? To make sure those changes happen."

"Yes," Shizuru replied, taken back by her perceptive reply. "Because even though Mashiro can see what needs to be done, she still needs for you to tell her that it's okay to go through with it. That she's making the right choice."

"Choice." Arika echoed and tore her eyes away from the window, her face heavy with defeat. She brushed a tendril of hair behind her ear and remembered the pins she had dropped on the floor. She kneeled to pick them up and was about to stuff them into her pocket but thought better against it.

"They're Mashiro's," Arika explained as she placed the pins in Aoi's hand before she could speak.

She made her way to the door without a second thought, not bothering with the formalities of goodbyes, and strode forward toward the task at hand. After all, what other choice did she have?

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **So this rather brief chapter took a very long time to produce…I don't blame you for being disgruntled with my negligence. Truth is that life has been pretty rough lately; a death in my family and the death of my job have made it difficult for me to feel motivated to write…So this chapter may not fall under the category of 'greatest hits.' Still, I am determined to continue to the finish, so please bear with me.

As always, your feedback is appreciated but not required.


	8. Chapter 5

This chapter has not been proofed for bad spelling and grammar.

You have been warned.

**The Dance of the Butterflies**

Chapter 5

The first time he fired a gun he had expected a flame to spark through the barrel. That's how they'd shown it when the traveling theater troupes had come to perform for the Grand Duke and the high born aristocrats. His mother had once taken him to view them perform at the ducal palace. He had been awed and mystified by their lavish costumes and captivated by their display of sheer strength and acrobatics. It had been a war drama, full of action, death and special effects—very much a boy's dream. He had been so engrossed that he had hardly spared a moment to blink. However, even as he watched he remained unaware of the silent war raging on between his mother and the Grand Duchess through poisonous glares and haughty glances. After that night, he would not set foot in the ducal palace for another thirteen years.

Whatever the reason, when he first fired a gun the deception was undramatically revealed, there was no blast of light or spark of fire, just a loud crack, like a baseball bat snapping a fastball. It had left him trembling as the resonance of the blast vibrated from the barrel through his arms and into the pit of his stomach. The sensation was exciting, and yet he could not deny the gripping nausea as the bullet clipped through the barrel and into the targeted tree trunk.

He had been a boy enamored with the glamour of violence only to discover that it was arbitrarily simple. Just one click of a gun was all it took to dispatch mortal wound. Perhaps there would be a gasp of startled breath or an outcry of pain, but when he first took a life, the doe had been completely silent. Upon the click of the trigger and the resonating crack, there was only the soft thump and rustle of grass and leaves as she lifelessly crumbled to the ground. Far more startling had been the deafening flap of wings as dozens of Blue Heron's took to the skies in alarm.

When he'd approached the doe and knelt over the body, her blood had already pooled thickly around her, staining the grass beneath. He could almost make out his reflection on the dark glossy surface of her blood, but a child's shriek sprung him to his feet and he whirled around toward its direction. Some hundred yards away, little Shiho Huit came barreling toward him, her elfish tear-stained face twisted by her pained cries.

"Maki, maki, maki," she cried out over and over. Her eyes squeezed shut and her small hands curled into tight fists. "Stupid Yuuchi!"

She rammed her head against his stomach and struck her small fists upon his chest, her cries growing more profound. Realizing the gravity of his sin, Yuuichi dropped the gun and stared at his hand in awestruck horror.

"I'm sorry Shiho," he said remorsefully as he slid his arms around the little girl, but he wasn't sure if she had heard him. Shiho's tearful face was buried in his jacket, sobbing stifled 'maki-makis' through the thick wool.

"I hate you," she grumbled between curses as she firmly tugged on his jacket.

"I know," he answered dolefully and pulled her up into his arms. Shiho rested her head at the crook of his neck and clung to his shoulders. The soft rumble of the overcast sky told him that the rains were coming. He glanced at the gun on the ground, its grip submerged in blood, and hesitantly decided to leave it. Perhaps later, when Shiho was tucked in bed he could return to retrieve it without risking it too much damage.

The thing was an antique, and he suspected that it was not built to withstand filth and water. He wondered what his uncle would say to know that the same family heirloom he had been bestowed was left to rust in the mud and rain… _and blood._

Souju Tate had stepped into the role of father immediately after Yuuichi's birth. The man had been hard to love. Stern and unforgiving, his expression of fondness was nearly indiscernible behind his mirthless, tyrannical eyes. His life lessons were often crueler. And yet, he realized years later as he grew into Tate the man, that his uncle's method of parenting had been an act of kindness. Yuuichi the boy, had an innately gentle disposition, far too kind and sweet for a courtier. Without his uncle's hard life lessons and stern upbringing he would have been as the lamb to the slaughter when he first went to court.

* * *

"Do you remember the spring of my Twelfth birthday? You and your mother spent the month at my family's summer home. We played kimodameshi in the woods behind the manor and my cousin broken his leg." It had been more than seventeen years since that day, but he was certain she still remembered. He noted the anxiety drained from her face as his words reached her through the tangle of burdening thoughts. It wasn't the proper time to reminisce, yet at a time like this, while they waited for the inevitable to come, he suspected that she needed the distraction most.

"Yeah," Shiho replied as the memory swept in slowly like fog, her trembling hands unwinding. "I remember. .. It was getting late and…we weren't allowed to play hide and seek. Because we'd get dirty. So I told you about the game I learned in school."

She shook her head and exhaled a small deprecating laugh.

"It wasn't your fault," Tate assured her.

"I was selfish, I just wanted you to myself so I begged you to convince everyone to play," she confessed.

"You were five. And I was also being selfish. I wanted to show off. Show my cousins that I wasn't that sniveling little wimp they always teased and bullied."

"Your uncle locked you in the feed room for twelve hours," she pointed out, a half smile on her lips as she tried to make light of past indignities. The subject of his uncle had never been an easy one to approach. He'd either loved him or hated him depending on the mood of the moment.

"I figured he was always such a bastard to me because I am one. His sister's illegitimate child. I could only imagine that the humiliation was too much to bear."

His communicator flashed and beeped, and they both jumped, tensions rising once again. She locked eyes with his, expectant of a reply and he flipped open his communicator and read the incoming message, his body tightening and then relaxing.

"Not yet," he declared and they eased back down.

"I don't know what's worse, Yuuichi," she said as she chewed on her fingernails, "the waiting or what we're gonna…" but she couldn't bring herself to finish that sentence.

Tate suffered a of stab of guilt. The burden etched in her eyes and the sound of his private name on her breath reanimated before him the doe he'd killed years before. He saw her in his mind's eyes as she had been moments before her death, her hesitant, curious gaze and her shy approach just as he raise the gun.

"There's no turning back anymore," he told her. "It may as well be as good as done."

Shiho nodded and willed away her uncertainties to that same place she had closed off her heart.

* * *

She had enrolled in Garderobe Academy, not out of a sense of familial duty or for the satisfaction of self-sacrifice, but because she liked the uniforms. At least that's what she had told Yuuichi after her public decree to honor her family and her royal lineage. What she didn't tell him, or anyone else for that matter, was that she'd hoped to one day be bound to Yuuichi by contract.

Her father had been surprised by her sudden enthusiasm in pursuing a career as an Otome, not realizing that her desire had been procured by his recent unannounced arrangement with the Cardair's King: a political marriage between his youngest daughter, Shiho, and the Cardair prince.

"I think you'll like the boy," her father had told her. "Kazuya's a handsome lad; even tempered and good natured. We'll announce a long term engagement until you're both old enough. This is good, honey. I have it worked out quite well."

After days of secretly cursing her father with her grandmother's "maki, maki" voodoo curse and sending the staff into spirals, she'd succeeded in doing no more than inducing curls in his beard. She had forfeited quietly without objection and resigned herself to a future without Yuuichi when an encounter with the haughty Juliet Nao Zhang provided her with a window to freedom.

Not that she would ever thank Miss Zhang. It hadn't been that kind of an encounter. There had been no exchange of smiles or friendship bracelets. No, the first time they met Shiho had hardly bothered to acknowledge Juliet Nao's presence.

A year before their enrollment in Garderobe Academy, an International Assembly of the United Kingdoms was held in Gristholm. It had been a rather informal affair, less of a political congregation and more of a social gala. Artai had used the Assembly as a platform to show off their future investments in Nina Wang and Juliet Zhang. The girls were dressed up and paraded around the ballroom from one diplomat to the next, although it was Nina Wang who was given the greatest coverage. After all, she was a member of a reputable Artai family, even if not by blood.

Juliet Nao, although impressive enough by skills alone, had no such connections. But none of that bothered her. She'd been glad enough to earn a scholarship to such a prestigious school and did not have it in her to care over Nina's preferential treatment in spite the fact that the girl still had another two years to go before she was enrolled at Garderobe. What had bothered her was the haughty glance cast her way by a girl who looked as if she'd had her hair styled by a blind hairdresser.

With just one look, Juliet Nao was well on her way to exacting retribution. True, it had been such a little thing, a gesture that could very easily have been overlooked, but Nao supposed it was _because_ it had seemed like such a natural thing that she felt so engorged with malevolence. She could not tolerate that _some little rich twit_ could look down upon her so easily just because she wasn't one of the elite.

That's when she tripped her. It hadn't taken all that much effort. Shiho had not been balancing well on her high heels all evening. It was her first function wearing heels, and in spite of all her practice, she still fought back the trembling that rode up her heels and to her calves with each careful step. Nao had only to step on the hem of the rich girl's dress to send her stumbling forward, and sure enough, she did. Shiho struggled to keep her balance, but her hands were preoccupied with a glass of Champaign and a slice of cake. Her fall was inevitable, she toppled forward, the cake crushed beneath her chest and the Champaign flute rolling away across the marble floors. When she came up, clumps of cake sputtered off her unusually lopsided chest.

"Need a napkin?" Juliet Nao offered with a saccharine smile, but Shiho was quick to read beyond Miss Zhang's thinly veiled concern. She slapped her hand away and rose to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster.

"I supposed not," Nao went on. "You seem to have napkins aplenty."

Shiho looked down at her caked chest with alarm. Heat crawled up her neck as she fought back tears of humiliation. The stuffing in the right side of her bra had been pushed up when she fell, making very apparent to all who looked on that her chest was as artificial as the gracious smile upon Miss Zhang's lips.

Swallowing down her humiliation, Shiho grit her teeth.

"It's so unfortunate that Garderobe Academy's standard's have dropped so low," she shot back. "It seems that _anyone_ can be a candidate. You should consider yourself so lucky."

With that she walked off not caring to look back and cake still crumbling off her dress. Juliet Nao had hardly heard a word of Shiho's biting retort, too busy holding back the laughter that rumbled in her gut. Shiho herself hardly seemed to care whether or not her insults had injured her rival's pride, because at that very moment, even as she bit back indignant outrage, it dawned on her that perhaps she too could become a candidate for Garderobe Academy and escape her father's future plans of political unions.

Shiho spent the rest of that night casting curses against Juliet Nao Zhang and all her future descendants. She had to send her 'maki, maki' device in for repairs in the morning.

* * *

Meister Huit chewed on what little fingernail was left on her pinky, the rest of her nails were already chewed down to the quick. Tate could not bear to look at her; there was still so much of that little girl that used to run after him and clasp possessively at the hem of his shirt.

"You shouldn't have come," he told her. "He shouldn't have sent you."

Tate's uneasy alliance with Charles Guinel Roy d'Florince VIII had come about from their mutual desire to remove Takeda Solice from power, although he remained very much in the dark to d'Florince's agenda. Tate knew that his coconspirator saw him as no more than a chess piece to be manipulated at his own discretion, but d'Florince was willing to provide Tate with the assets and backing he needed to take Takeda down. However, Shiho's involvement had not been part of the plan. He had been especially explicit on that matter.

"He needed me here," she replied. "And I wanted to come."

It was as much of a lie as it wasn't. Although her master sent her along as 'insurance' for Duke Tate McAllistar's 'little Coup d'état,' a part of her was excited at the prospect of reuniting with her childhood friend. They had gradually drifted apart after she started her enrollment at Garderobe Academy and had since then only seen him in passing. When she had last spoken to him, he had been involved with Mashiro Blan de Windbloom. By then the distance between them seemed as expansive as the space between two stars, and yet a part of her had still longed for the fulfillment of the love she'd bore him as a child.

But their reunion would not be a nostalgic one. She was not there to reminisce over childhood exploits and games played in the dark under a sky full of fireworks. She was there to help destroy a man and possibly risk the world into war.

"I know he's your brother," she admitted. "I've known for a long time now."

He wasn't surprised that she knew. It was Gristholm's best known secret. His mother's affair with the previous Grand Duke had been public enough, and it had even been unsurprising that their relationship produced a child. What had sent Gristholm abuzz with gossip and the Grand Duchess into a rage was his mother's defiance and nerve to dare name her illegitimate son "Yuuichi" after his father.

"You aren't going to curse me, are you?" he asked.

"No, stupid. But I get why this might be a hard thing for you to do."

Tate turned to her with a detached clarity in his eyes.

"It's not as difficult as you think," he explained. "He's not my brother or a Grand Duke. He's a tyrant, and I have no compassion for monsters."

With that said, his communicator beeped once more. Only this time there was no false alarm or sigh of relief. But there was no time to think; the adrenaline pumping in their veins cast aside all their fears as they stealthily made their way through the unguarded corridors of the ducal palace and parted ways. Tate did not think twice to aim and fire when an armed guard crossed his path. He did not see the blood that came pouring out the man's head, nor did he see the men that followed after him; he saw only moving targets to be picked off one by one.

By the time he made it to the council chamber, all the other players were already in position. Almost in unison, the surrounding doors to the assembly room were kicked open and the windows were broken through. Smoke bombs flooded the room with a thick haze as bullets pierced through the fog.

It wasn't until the smoke began to clear that the gunfire died down.

"He's not here," he dimly heard someone say. But Tate was not all there anymore, just as the smoke lifted he felt himself descend into his own waking nightmare. Blood wet the floors of the council chambers and bodies lay twisted across chairs and slumped over tables. It covered walls and tapestries and trickled down tables and chairs. His stomach seized and vomit pushed up his throat. He swallowed it back down but another spasm sent him doubling over.

He wiped his mouth, not caring how weak or foolish he may have seemed to the rest of the squad, when he realized that Shiho was standing at the center of the room, her eyes unhampered of naiveté. Without a word he walked up from behind and took her hand, leading her out of the room. He had hoped she would curse him until she went blue in the face, but those words never came.

_**Author's Note:**_

_Okay, so before I get hate over the complete lack of Mashiro/Arika in this chapter, I would like to state that this is building into something…really. Although between my uncle's death and my brother's failed suicide I may have slipped into a darker state of mind. For that, apologies._

_So now, go ahead and rant._


	9. Chapter 6

**The Dance of the Butterflies**

Chapter 6

When Masaru Pitzer learned that Meister Shizuru Viola had arrived at Windbloom Castle for the express purpose of meeting with Arika, he became unsettled and restless. In spite of the school's close ties to Windbloom, Garderobe Academy was still very much an independent institution, and it was precisely because of those close ties that he perceived the school as a threat.

"Garderobe should be kept at arm's length," he mumbled to himself. Never mind that Aoi was alone with him in his cluttered office. She held a silver tray to her chest, slowly inching her way to the door whenever Secretary Pitzer turned his back to her as he paced erratically.

Just as her fingers grazed the door knob, Pitzer stopped and looked her, scanning her up and down, as if he'd only just become aware of her presence; an idea was already forming in his mind. Aoi froze, almost afraid to breath. There was something predatory in the way he looked at her, so much so, that the tray she firmly held against her chest was not enough to subvert the violation she felt in his penetrating gaze.

Her face flushed red and she wondered if the rumors surrounding Masaru Pitzer, alledging him as the Peeping Tom of the Women's public baths, had any truth to them. After all, there had been witnesses who'd sworn up and down that it had been him. Never mind that they had all been drunk and professing that a giant cat, nearly human sized, had also scurried off into the night, leaving a trail of expensive and delicate lingerie.

"You were there, weren't you? " he proclaimed, inciting her to jump. "In the meeting between Meister Shizuru and Yumemiya?

Aoi bit her lip, fearful of the uncertain consequences that her simple response could elicit, but ultimately there were only two possible answers to his question.

"Yes," she replied and held her breath as she waited for the sky to fall.

* * *

Tate McAllister briskly strode through the marbled hallways, the clatter of his boots matched by Shiho Huit and Captain Cardinal as they followed behind. Shiho had no problem matching his pace, but Captain Cardinal struggled with breath as his legs pushed on stiffly.

"You-your Grace," said the Captain as he sought for a balance between words and breath, "It's quite a surprise...to have you here so far ahead of schedule. We weren't...we weren't expecting you and your entourage for a…for another two days."

"My entourage will be arriving on schedule, but recent events have demanded that I press ahead with our proceedings." Tate replied, not once bothering to look back.

The Captain eyed the Duke's companion, puzzled by her presence. The girl had not been included as part of his entourage and her presence had yet to be explained. Her identity was not all that much of a mystery. He recognized her easily enough as a Meister of the Cardair Empire and as a former classmate of Arika Yumemiya, but as to why she was traveling as the Duke's companion, let alone his sole companion was anybody's guess.

Shiho had been solemnly silent for the most part. Tate's impending negotiations with Queen Mashiro and Windbloom's Council and her part in the coup of the Gristholm sovereignty had left her rather subdued. And yet the prying eyes of the stogy Windbloom captain were irksome enough to stir up her contemptuous nature. She grit her teeth and fought back the urge to mouth off and make some kind of disparaging remark because she was beyond that. Or at least she was trying to make believe that she was. Instead she matched his ogling eyes, a stiff smile formed upon her lips. Captain Cardinal smiled back awkwardly, pausing for a fraction of a second as he was left unnerved by the Meister's expression. Her lips may have been smiling, but her eyes clearly wanted to cut him up into little pieces.

_I'll have to steer clear of that one,_ he mentally noted, suddenly recalling Arika's absurd remark the last time Shiho Huit stayed at Windbloom Castle, warning him to watch out for any voodoo dolls and to steer clear whenever she put on her crazy eyes. It dawned on him that perhaps Arika's warning had not been so unreasonable after all.

As soon as they entered the Council Room Captain Cardinal excused himself and started for the Royal Office. He signaled down two passing guards and ordered them to keep watch outside the Council Room and resumed to his destination. He felt uneasy, the whole situation with Duke McAllister's unannounced early arrival had him on edge. _Something's changed,_ he concluded. Like many others, he'd also heard the rumors circling the circumstances of Grand Duke Solise's dethroning and grimaced at the prospect of their veracity.

* * *

It is a passionate dream, but feels more like a nightmare. She is disoriented and can't understand how it came to pass that a girl, ripe and bare with the scent of peaches on her skin, straddles her on white silken sheets. Her velvety legs are clasped tightly against her waist, and in the haze of her dream, she realizes that this sexual being has her pinned to the mattress. She tries to make out her face but the sun is brazen and her eyes are weakened by the morning glare.

Her captor pulls a metal pin from her own hair and her locks come cascading down her neck and shoulders and over her delicate small breasts. Arika wonders why she has not noticed them before. Despite their smallness, they are curvaceous and inviting. Her breath catches in her throat and she is overcome with longing and a tightness in her groin that she cannot explain.

"Mashiro," she gasps softly as the shadows drift away and the sun drapes over them like a warm blanket. Arika feels the caress of a cool breeze upon her bare chest and is only vaguely aware that they are no longer on a bed in the Queen's chambers, but in the eastern gardens on a bed of flowers.

Mashiro plucks a yellow dandelion from the grass and teasingly trails it along Arika's firm stomach; she groans instinctively and resists the urge to pull her in her arms and roll on top of her. Instead she waits, curious to see what this girl, who has confined her with her lovely legs, will do next. The wait isn't a long one; Mashiro leans forward, closing the gap between them, her hair tickling Arika's sensitive cheeks.

Her lips close in and Arika is roused by the warmth of her queen's pulsing breath as it warms and tingles her lips. Their eyes close as mouth touches mouth, brushing ever so softly but not quite a kiss.

"Tate," she whispers as she takes Arika's lips in a deepened kiss.

_Tate?_ Arika pulls away and the haze around them grows dense. She searches Mashiro's face but is confused by the stark lust gleaming in her eyes as she whispers his name once again.

_Why? Why do you call his name?_ _Can't you see me?_

She reaches for her queen, stroking her face with large strong hands and realizes that they are not her own, nor are the arms, torso, chest...she runs strange hands over her face, _over his face_.

"Tate?" Mashiro looks on with quizzeled eyes.

_No, I don't want this! Not this...I don't want..._

Arika sprung forward as she woke, slipping off her bed and landing face first onto the rug. She gasped from the shock of the impact; her nose spasmed with a thousand microbes of pain, spinning her in every direction as tears welled up in her eyes.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God._

She pushed herself up to her knees and squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself from the pain by counting the seconds until the ache had subsided enough for the tears to stop flowing. Gingerly, she touched her nose, but even such a delicate application of pressure sent another sharp spasm searing through her nasal cavity. She cursed herself and grit her teeth until the pain lulled once more.

_ "Tate?" _Mashiro's voice resonated through her thoughts, her serenely doleful cyan eyes were engraved in Arika's mind. She sensed a longing in them as well, which troubled her to no end.

_When she looked at me like that...when she...was she longing for him or for..._

It was pointless to dwell on it further, there was nothing to be gained from a dream. Nevertheless, the fear burrowed inside her, refusing to unburden her thoughts. For a moment she dared to wonder if that nightmare had truly been a dream feeding on her unfiltered insecurities. Doubt came pouring from within and she grabbed at her chest, half afraid at what she might discover. But there was never any need to worry. No amount of dreaming could will away a bust of her size.

A spark of relief ignited within her and she took to her feet, making her way to the floor mirror. The face gaping back at her, sleepy-eyed and blood smudged across a broken nose, was clearly hers. She touched her cheek and it was smooth as a peach, not coarse and brittle as his had been. And yet, it had been _that_ face that made Mashiro look upon her so.

_This face...if only..._

She pressed her hands and forehead against the mirror, careful not to hit her nose.

_Just what is it that I'm looking for? What do I want?_

"Arika?"

Aoi stood at the doorway, her face lit up with more than a little surprise to find Arika awake so early in the morning. It was just minutes after eight, but the walls of Windbloom castle were unaccustomed to the Arika's noisy clatter before eleven.

Arika barely responded; a mumble escaped her throat but not a single muscle had winced, and Aoi couldn't help but wonder if Arika was awake at all. It wouldn't be the first time she had caught her sleep walking. The last time it had occurred she had nearly strangled Secretary Pitzer in his sleep.

"Arika?" she repeated in a soft voice, well aware of the fragile state of sleepwalkers.

"Hmm?"

_Well, she's responding...somewhat...so she must be awake. _Aoi closed the door behind her.

"Mashiro asked that I wake you," she continued cautiously. "She wanted me to bring you this," she held up a garment bag but Arika had yet to acknowledge her. "She had it especially tailored for you. To wear for the Gristholm Joint Council. It's very military sheik. The latest in military fashion, no more froufrou ruffles getting in the way of combat...Arika?"

"There is no meeting," Arika grumbled flatly. "The Joint Council isn't on the agenda for a couple of days."

"You're right. It wasn't on the Agenda for today. But it is as of this morning, Duke McAllister arrived early. He's waiting in the Council Room."

"He's here?"

"Yes. And Her Majesty needs you to be at your best in the next twenty minutes."

Arika pushed herself away from the mirror and clumsily turned around, her bare feet nearly tripping over each other.

"It's happening? Now?" There was no masking the distress in her voice, but Aoi was far more distracted by the blood smudged across the bridge of her nose and dripping down along the curve of her upper lip.

"Goodness! Arika, what happened to you? Are you okay?"

"Just fell," she answered dismissively, far too dumbfounded by the news Aoi had laid upon her. " Are you serious...about what you said?"

"Yes, yes," Aoi replied anxiously as she draped the garment bag over the nearest chair and hurried to the bathroom. Arika followed glumly behind, her feet dragging on the marble floors, smudging the blood as it came tricking down.

The sound of drawers and cabinets rattling as they were opened and closed shut, briefly filled the room before Aoi emerged with a first aid kit.

"Arika, you're dripping!" Aoi proclaimed as soon as she noticed the trail of blood smeared on the floors. "Here, take a seat and tilt your head back," she said as she guided the dopey eyed girl back to the chair and gently leaned her head back.

Arika rested her eyes, hoping that when she eventually did reopen them, she'd have wakened to discover that this was all one ridiculous dream. But that was unlikely; the feel of Aoi's hands on her face as she cleansed away the blood with disinfectant was all too real.

"Wait!" Arika gasped sharply as moistened cotton swab was polished along her nose. She clung to the chair as her body bolted upright in pain.

"You know," Aoi mused as Arika rigidly panted and trembled, "I don't think we're gonna get you ready in twenty minutes."

* * *

Nearly two hours after the conference began and Mashiro continued to steal glances toward the door. Masaru Pitzer had been droning on for no more than fifteen minutes as he addressed the trivial details of the property inheritance contracts. Arika had once sardonically remarked that all sound emitted from Secretary Pitzer's mouth would be better served if it were bottled and sold to insomniacs world wide.

It had hardly been an appropriate remark, particularly because the man had been in the room when she said it, but even after she chastised Arika, she couldn't help but agree with that assessment. And to think that there was still the matter of military presence and control to be discussed. Tate must have caught on to her distraction because he smiled sympathetically and playfully rolled his eyes at the long-winded State Secretary. Mashiro broke into a smile but quickly suppressed it when Secretary Pitzer cast a questioning look in her direction.

_Where are you?_ She hadn't expected Arika to be on time but she had hoped that the special circumstances regarding this meeting would bring out the punctuality in her. Her stomach tensed with nervous queasiness. Two hours was more than just a little late and it was becoming apparent to her that Arika was not going to show.

She pulled at the Meister ring on her middle finger and twirled it. The ring came off far more easily now after she had shed the last of her baby fat. Unlike Arika's early leap into womanhood, Mashiro had remained a late bloomer well into her late teens. The differences between them used to gnaw at her whenever they stood side by side. Mashiro looked like a child whereas Arika was quickly becoming the symbol of burgeoning sexuality. Although the gap between their differences was slowly bridged over the years, it would certainly never close; as such she would always harbor a tinge of jealousy in her heart.

As it dawned on her that the man sitting across from her would be her husband in just a matter of weeks, she couldn't help but wonder what he thought of her. _Does he think I'm beautiful?_ _I'm not voluptuous like Arika or demure like Aoi. Will he find me disappointing when we...when we..._

But it was difficult to imagine their bodies entwined passionately. Doubts came trickling to the surface, causing ripples in her resolve. _I'm making the right choice, aren't I? I know that_ _he doesn't love me...and I don't love him, but we need each other, and I really do like him..._

"_You're doing the right thing," _Arika's voice chimed in her thoughts. But it wasn't a construction of her imagination. She had spoken those very words to her yesterday inside the gazebo, just as the sun sank into the horizon. The wind had picked up as the night air cooled, and Mashiro crossed her arms for warmth.

"I'm scared," she'd confessed. She must have sounded like a frightened child to Arika because she was very much aware of the rising timbre in her voice; how it trembled and sharpened in pitch. She bit self-consciously on the inside of her lip and fixed her eyes on the setting sun. Orange glint reflected off the pond around them, and it hardly seemed like water at all.

"Mashiro, about the...the _thing_ with Gristholm," Arika began tentatively, slowly, as she sought after the right words. "I think, I think that the right thing isn't always the easiest thing to do. Sometimes...a lot of the times, it's the hardest."

The queen was struck with an near overwhelming sense of surprise. Arika had never looked more somber and resolute, yet she unexpectedly composed. She was the picture of serenity and resolution, and as much as she found comfort in it, it frightened her even more.

"You almost looked like an adult when you said that," Mashiro replied, the knot in her throat swelling. "Where did you learn that?" She chided awkwardly as she wetted lips and swallowed stiffly.

"I learned it from watching you," Arika replied simply, no pretension in her voice. There was a majesty to her poise and Mashiro could help but admire her form. The sun turned her hair into a fiery red, almost gold, and Mashiro was drawn to her like the proverbial moth. Even the blue in her eyes burned with the cool flame of the setting sun.

"You shouldn't worry, though," Arika went on. "You always do the right thing in the end. It's what you do,"

"I do, do I? You haven't always thought so."

"That's because I didn't understand. I thought that we had to do right by each person. But making choices like that...you just can't see the big picture; but _you..._you can and you do. You do what needs to be done, and I figure that's gotta be the right choice."

"But if we're just talking about me and not the big picture?" Mashiro replied, daring to indulge in a moment of selfishness. "It's not, is it?"

"I wouldn't say that," Arika replied. She seemed so certain and Mashiro resented her for it. _How can she be so sure when I'm at such a loss?_ But it was more than that; not once, had Arika looked her way, and right now she needed her to see her.

_ Why won't you look at me?_

The flickering flames died in her eyes as the sun completely disappeared into the earth, and with them any urge that might have pressed Mashiro into pursing the questions that burned in the back of her mind.

"Maybe, you're right," she replied.

* * *

Arika arrived, stumbling gracelessly through the door as she struggled to see around edges of her oversized nose guard. Her breath was heavy with urgency and her mind was too distracted to catch the door fast enough before it slammed behind her. Not the most memorable of entrances, but certainly attention grabbing; far more than could be said of the endlessness of Masaru Pitzer's speech. Most everyone welcomed the distraction, but the State Secretary had only condemnation in his eyes.

"Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any to stop for a break," Secretary Pitzer announced. "We still have a month before the actual ceremony occurs; no need to rush through all the details in just one day," but the tightness of his lips as he forced a smile suggested his desire to press forward with proceedings as quickly as possible; an insinuation that was not lost upon Arika.

The room quickly cleared but she caught a glance of Tate McAllister as he choked his laughter, which had clearly been aimed at her. He wasn't the only one; several members of the delegation honed bemused smirks on their lips as they exited the conference room.

"So this is why you were late?" Mashiro exclaimed incredulously with only the slightest discernible trace of relief, as she advanced toward her from behind.

Arika swirl around, but grimaced as pain inflamed her nose and pulsed around her eyes.

"Sorry. Aoi wouldn't let me leave until the doctor got a look at me," she explained apologetically. "But it doesn't look like I missed much."

Mashiro simply shook her head, too exasperated to say anything more. The conference room had finally been cleared with the exception of Secretary Pitzer, who lingered gawkily near the doorway, but as soon as he caught Mashiro's eye he ducked out without pause.

"So, one month, huh?" Arika declared awkwardly, fidgeting with the nose guard straps.

"One month," her queen echoed.

Arika's head felt light and heavy all at once as the pain medication gradually began to take effect in her bloodstream.

"Are you alright?" Mashiro asked as she closed the space between them. Tears had silently made their way down her cheeks. She reached a hand toward Arika's tear-stained face, but her friend pressed her hand away.

"It's okay," she replied. "The medication hasn't completely kicked in yet. The pain, it...it hurts."

"It must really be broken, then."

Arika nodded.

_So many things are breaking._

_

* * *

_

**_Author's Note:_ **

I realize it's been a very long time since I last updated this story, unfortunately personal and familial troubles kept me at bay, but now my concerns are mostly behind me.

I would like to apologize for my unforgiveable delay, most especially to those who have been following this silly story of mine for so long. So here it is.

Reviews and comments are always appreciated and welcome.


	10. Chapter 7

**The Dance of the Butterflies  
**

**Chapter 7**

Shiho hadn't spoken more than a few words during their drive to Garderobe Academy and Arika felt grateful for the quiet. Under normal circumstances she may have felt the need to saturate the silence with as many words as she could fill it, but today she hardly had the energy to even carry herself. The muscles in her face were strained from the constant smiling, and she realized that facades were a difficult thing to maintain, like trying to keep a mask on that didn't quite fit, the constant adjusting and tampering, all just to keep it from slipping off, and hoping that no one would notice. It was too much of a balancing act and Arika was no juggler.

Of course, in Arika's case, the façade had been more than just a metaphor. Three weeks had passed since Mashiro and McAllister's engagement had been announced, that's three weeks since she had cracked her nose and was forced to wear a ridiculous oversized nose guard morning, noon, and night. The thing had encompassed nearly her whole face. Relief couldn't describe how she felt once the doctor downgraded her to a less obtrusive nose guard, made entirely of a durable clear plastic that molded around her eyes and nose. The new piece was just as encompassing of her face, but she was far less self-conscious with it. Or, at least, she was whenever the duke was _not_ knocking on it to garner her attention.

Her hand absently stroked the clear plastic over her nearly-recovered nose and she exhaled a small sigh of relief. _Glad that's finally over..._

She'd practically taken a hammer to the old nose guard when the doctor gave the okay to downgrade it.

"I forgot how much I missed this place," Shiho uttered over the hum of the engine.

Arika turned to Shiho, having already forgotten that she was not alone in the car. Shiho had a hand pressed listlessly against the cold glass as light etched a ghostly reflection of the streets of Windbloom in her eyes. Even so, Arika could see the distant look on her face and knew that Shiho was looking beyond the streets and the buildings that fashioned the city. She was seeing old ghosts. Arika saw them too; whenever she walked the grounds and the corridors of Garderobe she caught glimpses of Erstin and Nina. Sometimes she heard Chie Hallard's deep throaty laugh, but it was Erstin Ho's soft, girlish chuckle that haunted her the most.

She couldn't imagine Shiho's ghosts to be as heavy and burdensome as the expression on her face let on, and yet she looked so pale and unexpectedly frail that the Shiho before her seemed more like an apparition. She knew something must have happened during the coup d'état. Duke McAllister and his entourage had been tight-lipped about the details, but the gritty nature of the overthrow was implicit in their careful wording. Arika had been specifically kept out of the war council debriefing; Mashiro had made sure of that without explanation.

There was a time when she believed that becoming an Otome and the path of righteousness and heroics were one and the same. It was pure starry-eyed naïveté on her part; she had sought after a connection to her mother by walking along the same path. Her blind determination fueled by stories of her mother's heroics had brought her here, even after she learned the truth of what it meant to be an Otome.

Mashiro had insisted that Arika was no tool, and being full of pride and idealism Arika was just as determined to believe it. But it was hard to ignore the implications of her position; the agendas and the half truths that threatened to expose the lie. She knew it was also the reason why the expression on Shiho's face made her anxious, so far as to claw at her cuticles to put herself at ease.

"He's not so bad, you know," Shiho said without so much as a glance. Arika expected her to turn her way but Shiho's gaze remained fixed to the world outside her window. It occurred to her that Shiho was talking at her and not to her, and she also turned away to the world beyond her side of the glass.

"Mashiro told me the same thing," Arika answered tersely, her brows furrowed with contempt. "Tate the great, the wonderful, the wise, and he's 'oh so very nice'," her voice increased in timbre with each mockingly derisive remark. She was being needlessly difficult and she knew it even as she spoke, but bile continued to spill from her lips.

"I mean, I _know_ he's not a bad person, I _know _that he means well, and I _know_ that a marital union between Mashiro and the Duke is going to keep us from war and ensure Tate's claim as the High Ducal heir. I know all this is supposed to be this great thing for us because it also means that we'll have access to the capital of trade and probably one of the most strategically placed territories and all, but _so what?_ The whole thing just pisses me off."

Her hands were balled into tight fists and she was dimly aware of the ache in her fingers.

"Would you please lower you voice? You do realize that the driver can hear everything you're saying, don't you?" Arika cowered shamefully. "Geez, must you always be such a loud mouth?"

Shiho felt the numbness inside her dissipate and was silently thankful for Arika's emotional outburst. It had been long since they had considered themselves to be rivals, but Arika always managed to trigger Shiho's imprudent conceit, as if their emotional maturity had been suspended in adolescence.

"It's not like it matters if he hears," Arika replied with more confidence than she felt. "They've all signed confidentiality clauses."

"Of course it matters! Servants talk to other servants," Shiho scolded abrasively, her brows contorted in disbelief at Arika's gullibility. "Your secrets may not get plastered all over the Sunday paper, but with gossip to fuel the flames, there's no need!"

"Now look who's being the loud mouth," Arika scoffed cockily. Just as Shiho was going to continue her tirade, she caught the probing eyes of the driver looking her way through the rear view mirror. Embarrassed to have fallen into her own trap, Shiho closed her mouth and bit her bottom lip.

"Just be careful, okay?" She said with greater composure, her voice softer and beyond the driver's earshot. "The last thing you want is to have your secrets and your private feelings being passed around like some juicy tidbit."

"I don't care if everyone knows that I can't stand the Duke," Arika grumbled softly.

"Well, you should care because _that _Duke will soon be married to Mashiro," Shiho pointed out and Arika cast her gaze downward. "I'm sure she'll care if the animosity that you have for her husband is widely known."

Arika made no move to reply. There wasn't anything she could say that didn't end with her eating her own words and she figured that her silence made for enough of a concession.

Deep down, she knew that there really wasn't anything malignant about Duke Tate McAllister's character. Under different circumstances Arika might have liked him – might have even found him attractive considering how much of a likeness he had to Sergay Wang. There was something inviting and charming in his person, the allure of the-boy-next-door, and unlike Sergay, Tate was not so tainted by darker forces; there was a purity and dignity to his actions. _(But the coup d'état…) _Although, perhaps not as pure as he appeared to be.

"I know he's not a bad guy," Arika conceded, but her eyes were weighed down by sorrow and lament. "It would be a lot easier for me to hate him if he was a terrible person, or even a jerk. Then I could just lock him up with Nagi Dài Artai, feed the key to Mikoto, and nobody would care."

Shiho nodded sympathetically.

"Sometimes I wish for something like that too."

Arika raised a surprised brow. _And here I thought that she liked Duke McAllister. _But, unbeknownst to Arika, the person Shiho pictured sealed away behind those bars had a far fairer complexion.

~x~

Arika hadn't expected to run into Duke McAllister on the grounds of her old school. While she could normally spot his cocky grin a kilometer away, she hadn't taken notice of him until they had collided into each other.

Tate's arms had wrapped around her smaller frame as soon as he felt the impact, sparing Arika the embarrassment of crash-landing back before the already-prying eyes of a busy student body. Her face was buried in his chest, her breathing stifled by his cashmere sweater, and fogging up her plastic nose guard. He smiled affably at her and Arika peered up.

"I'm starting to believe that, perhaps, you are my destiny, Arika Yumemiya," McAllister teased, "How can I possibly resist the implication of your lovely form entwined with mine?"

Arika flushed red and tried to tear herself away from McAllister's firm embrace, but he denied her escape, squeezing her tighter against his chest.

"Let go!" She insisted through grit teeth, but his eyes sparkled with mischief, and she knew he had no intention of releasing her just yet.

The tighter he squeezed, the harder she squirmed to set herself free. When he finally released her, her arms had been pushing so strenuously against him that she had effectively launched herself backwards, stumbling and then fumbling onto the ground.

Shiho, who had remained completely silent through the entire exchange, suppressed her obvious amusement by biting down on her lips before casting her childhood friend a menacing glare. McAllister's smirk quickly softened and a meaningful look passed between them. Shiho had not been herself for days, and it relieved him to see her back to her old ways. She returned his warm smile, indifferent to Arika's grumblings.

Shiho liked this side of McAllister best. It was in moments like these that she could see the Yuuchi of her childhood seep through Tate McAllister's façade. It wasn't the child who was afraid of his uncle, or the man who stood stone-faced before the Gristholm throne; it was the boy with the thousand smiles, who played with her all summer before her mother finally took her home, kicking and screaming, at the summer's end.

McAllister offered his hand to Arika, who had remained pouting on the ground. She hesitated briefly, but with a reassuring nod from Shiho, she gingerly accepted his hand and pulled herself up to her feet.

"Why is it that whenever I feel a pain in my side, you're there to aggravate it even more?" Arika grumbled ungraciously.

"I suppose that also has something to do with our intertwining fates."

"_Oh please_, you're so-"

She was preparing to launch into a parade of insults when Shiho placed a placating hand on Arika's forearm. Unmoved, Arika glared back at her peer's serene gaze, but her budding tirade was quickly and effectively brought to an end by the heel that dug painfully into Arika's left foot. Shiho smiled sweetly and Arika grit her teeth.

"Actually, I'm glad I got a chance to run into you today, even if it was in a literal sense," McAllister continued on, overlooking the cold war that was brewing between the girls, but with the tiniest smirk lingering on the corners of his mouth.

"Wh-why is that?" Arika elbowed Shiho, wedging her adversary's heel off of her foot.

"There's something I've needed to discuss with you for some time now." He replied. Arika couldn't fathom what the duke could possibly need to talk about with her. She searched his face for any clue but his easy disposition provided no answers. He was the type of person who could announce that an asteroid the size of the western continent was hurling toward Windbloom at 60 kilometers per second on the same beat as a farmer who contemplates the weather.

"Shiho, do you mind if I steal her away for a bit?"

"She minds!" Arika interjected before Shiho could reply. "We have a sparring demonstration and I can't possibly be detained."

"Is that so?" He mused, tapping at the plastic over her face.

"It is," she snapped back and swatted his hand away.

"Shiho?"

Shiho wordlessly conceded to the duke's request and started off toward the direction of the headmistress' office, ignoring Arika's desperate and deflated protests.

"_That back-stabbing snake-haired psychopath_," Arika muttered under her breath.

The duke pretended not to have heard her as he gestured she follow him. When his distracted and reluctant companion failed to acknowledge him, he startled her by taking her hand and dragging her off to a more remote area of the campus.

_Oh, this can't possibly be good_, Arika concluded. _Not at all._

The spectating students that had gathered around the ruckus were left to ponder over what they had just born witness to.

"Was that Meister Yumemiya?" A short mousy first year student inquired, brows crinkled in disbelief.

"No, probably the Queen's Jester Acting Troupe," her equally befuddled friend replied.

~x~

**Author's Note: **I realize it's been a long time since I have updated on this story and that many of you are of a good mind to soak me with gasoline and set me on fire for 'abandoning' this fic. Believe it or not, I've never intended to abandon it. Am I a terribly slow writer? Yes. I'd hesitated posting this chapter for some time simply because it's not complete, but I figured it might be a good idea to throw it out there before I resume with this story in June. Feel free to flame. I deserve it.


End file.
